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4 




Dolly is sent for. 




FOB HONOR’S SAKfc 


A SEQUEL TO THE SQUIRE'S 
DA UGHTER " 


LUCY cAilLIE 

AUTHOR OF “ESTHER’S DAUGHTER,” “HELEN 
GLENN,” ETC. 




PHILADELPHIA 
PORTER & COATES 



Copyright, 1891, 

BY 

PORTER & COATES. 


i 




CONTENTS 


CHAPTEB 


PAGE 

, I. 

An Interesting Piece of News, 

5 

II. 

Dolly Comes Home, 

11 

III. 

A Strange Communication, 

. 18 

IV. 

The Hildreths, 

24 

V. 

Fred to the Rescue, 

. 29 

VI. 

A Chaotic Breakfast, 

37 

VII. 

A Shopping Tour, 

. 41 

VIII, 

“ Addy,” 

58 

IX. 

“I CAN HARDLY DEFINE IT,” 

. 67 

X. 

Honor Refuses to be an Invalid, 

71 

XI. 

Thorndyke’s “ Philosophy,” 

. 77 

XII. 

Five O’Clock Tea, 

86 

XIII. 

In the Gloaming, 

. 97 

XIV. 

Emily Anderson Welcomes Dolly, 

112 

XV. 

Dolly Makes her Special Plea, 

. 117 

XVI. 

An Unexpected Arrival, .... 

126 

XVII. 

Miss Marston Introduces Herself, . 

. 132 

XVIII. 

No “ False Pride,” 

138 

XIX. 

Honor, “The Sceptic,” .... 

. 144 

XX. 

“How CAN You Ask Me such a Question?” 

153 

XXI. 

Sybil Describes her Idea of a “ Brand,” 

. 157 

XXII. 

A “ Social Alexander,” 

165 

XXIII. 

A Revelation, 

. 174 

XXIV. 

In the Toils, .' . 

185 

XXV. 

At the Old Fireside, 

. 193 

XXVI. 

“I Feel as if I should Despair,” 

200 

XXVII. 

“ You Do Everything,” .... 

. 207 

XXVIII. 

At The Glen, 

218 

XXIX. 

“ How Dare I,” 

. 226 

XXX. 

An Unexpected Summons, . *. . . 

234 


iii 



iv CONTENTS, 

CHAPTEK , PAGE 

XXXI. A Point op Honor, . ' 239 

XXXII. A Preliminary Kehearsal, .... 247 

XXXIII. For the Sake op “ Lang Syne,” . . . 258 

XXXIY. General Bering is Content, . . . 265 

XXXV. A Shock, . 273 

XXXVI. The Bondage op Deceit, . ■ . . . 277 

XXXVII. “ Love,” THE Conjurer, 283 

XXXVIII. A Strange Encounter, .... 294 

XXXIX. Mrs. Leonard Makes a Call, .... 299 

XL. Dolly Writes an Important Letter, . 309 

XLI. Where is Mrs. Leonard ? .... 319 

XLII. The “Disowned” Expresses her Opinion, 328 

XLIII. Wedding Bells and a Good-by, . . . 334 

XLIV. “ For Honor’s Sake,” 349 

XLV. The “ Credit op the Family,” . . . 358 

XL VI. “ A Winter Blossom,” 366 

XLVH. The Trinket is Returned to its Place op 

Honor, 373 

XLVHI. Pauline’s Romance, 377 

XLXIX. Dolly Dances a Minuet 382 

L. “I Cannot Explain,” 393 

LI. In Salston, 401 

LII. Reparation, 410 

LHI. The Secret Past, 415 

LIV. Mrs. Leonard’s Quest, 422 

LV. “ It was Honor,” 43O 

LVI. In the Valley op the Shadow, . . . 438 

LVII. A Journey to Arcadia, 447 


FOE HONOE’S SAKE. 


CHAPTER I 

AN INTERESTING PIECE OF NEWS. 

“Hona ! Nona ! where are you? Oh, there you are ! ” 

The last words were uttered in a tone of relief, as the 
speaker, a tall, thin girl of about sixteen, opened the door 
of a room in Mr. Marston’s house and peered about with a 
pair of near-sighted brown eyes. It was apparently a sit- 
ting-room devoted to the various interests and occupations 
of the household, and as a general air of untidiness and 
disorder prevailed, the family methods might be easily sur- 
mised. Curled in a deep window seat was a girl of sev- 
enteen or eighteen, who, on hearing herself called, liftbd a 
fair, serious face from the book she was reading, but did 
not speak. 

“ I was afraid you had gone out,” Winnie Marston con- 
tinued, coming in and sitting down awkwardly in a deep 
chair where some sewing materials had been thrown down 
and forgotten. “ IVe such a piece of news ! ” 

Well ! ” Nona smiled good-humoredly, half closed her 
book, and prepared to listen. 

“ General Bering and his ward, or adopted daughter, 
whatever she is,” said Winnie, still a little breathless, 
“ are coming very soon to The Glen — in fact, may be 
expected, Mary Neil says^ any day. But the Hildreths 

6 


6 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


don’t seem to like it at all. Mary says she is sure from 
their manner some trouble exists between Mrs. Hildreth 
and her brother-in-law, and it must be about this ward or 
daugliter or ” 

“My dear Winnie,” Nona exclaimed, laughing, “you 
and Mary Neil, as usual, have been deciding all the affairs 
of the village ! Did you call on Mrs. Hildreth and ask her 
just w'hat the difficulty was ? ” 

Winifred colored slightly, but she was too entirely 
good-natured to mind her cousin’s rebuke, and too full of 
her budget of news to be hindered from going on. 

“ Of course not ! But really I do believe it is true, and, 
as Mary says, it’s just like something in a novel. It seems 
that General Bering adopted this Miss Kent after her 
parents’ death. Her father died abroad ; then she went to 
Europe with old Mrs. Hale, to take care of her, and now 
she has come home and the General has left her all his for- 
tune, and that is what vexes the Hildreths ; she has in- 
herited everything and ” 

“ Stop,” cried Nona, laughing again. “ General Bering 
isn’t dead, child ! You can’t inherit from the living ! ” 
Winnie’s face clouded. There was evidently some fic- 
tion in Mary Neil’s little romance ! 

“ No ? then I presume it is only that he intends to leave 
her all.” 

“So likely he would confide his intentions to Mary Neil,” 
observed Nona dryly, but with a certain sparkle of interest 
in her blue e3^es. 

“Well, they certainly are coming home,” declared Win- 
nie, at last. “ Mary knows that old Mrs. Maper, the house- 
keeper, sent for Sam Bowcher’s daughter to help get things 
in order. You see the house has been vacant so Iona:,” 
This sounded more reliable, and while Winifred was 


AJSr INTERESTING PIECE OF NEWS. 


1 


silent, pursuing a new train of tliought, Nona let her gaze 
wander from the western window of the sitting-room to 
the stately villa, in its setting of lawn, gardens, and ter- 
races, which adjoined Mr. Marston’s rambling, old-fash- 
ioned, and, in spite of much that was picturesque, rather 
tumble-down house. The Glen, as General Bering’s country 
home in Beckford was called, had always given a certain 
air of distinction to the neighborhood, and, in spite of its 
being so seldom occupied of late years, was well kept up ; 
its gardens, — quite famous in the county, — the shrubbery, 
trees, rare plants, all well worth visiting, while stories of the 
elegance indoors were current in the village, and sighed over 
by ‘‘ summer boarders,” who could only guess at what the 
irregular stone walls might contain, since neither gardener 
nor housekeeper would do more than escort people, in a dig- 
nified, watchful way, about the grounds. The first entrance 
marked a complete break, as it were, from any village 
street. The Marstons’ front gate almost opened on the end 
of River Street, and therefore was nearly in the village ; 
but a large garden, a bit of orchard, and a tiny creek, bor- 
dered with willows, gave the place full title to be called in 
the country ; while the pine groves skirting the rear of both 
places, and leading down to the river, were private prop- 
erty, free from intrusion, except where a pathwa}?^ allowed 
village people and any pedestrian the right of way. 

Beckford itself, a rambling and quite picturesque village, 
lay below the slight eminence on which both the Bering 
and Marston places stood. Having an excellent reputation 
for good air, fishing, and boating ; being not too far from 
a very gay seaside resort, and holding in its annals certain 
historic events, it was a really “ eligible ” resort, and within 
the radius of ten miles were a dozen or more private 
‘‘ places,” kept up in the summer season with quite an air 


10 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


spruceness in his dress, an exceeding neatness, and a way 
of carrying liimself, gave an impression to most of people 
that Fred Marston was “distinguished” in a remarkable 
degree. A very few — like his cousin Nona, for example — 
saw through the veneer which was not only in his dandy- 
ism, but his character ; to dash young Marston’s belief in 
himself Would have required a shrewder touch than Nona 
could give ; still, he was always a little unpleasantly con- 
scious that she did not respect him. All the services which 
the men of a family have a right to expect from its 
women, Nona gave freely to Fred ; but she drew the line 
at anything like the homage or attention he considered his 
due, and consequently there was always a touch of warfare 
on both sides. 

Nona left Winifred to explain what she chose. Fred, 
quite unconscious that Nona disapproved, saw fit to nearly 
wither his younger, sister by telling her she ought to be 
ashamed of herself for thinking of such a thing. 

“ I am going down there myself to-night,” he remarked 
loftily, “ and if you’ll promise not to be such a meddler, I 
may tell you about the call to-morrow.” 

There was a certain consolation to Winnie in this, and, 
afraid she might have hurt the girl’s feelings, Nona in- 
dulged her in a long chat about this unknown, half -mythi- 
cal girl whom it was said General Bering had adopted. 


CHAPTER II. 


DOLLY COMES HOME. 

t 

“ Look, Honor ! we are coming into Beckford ! It is a 
pretty town ! red roofs all in a jumble, with trees on the 
river ! I declare, I’d like a sketch of this view even from 
a car window ! ” 

‘‘ But it is raining ! However, you could paint that, 
Dolly ! Water colors.” 

It looks very nice. There is a dear old mill ! And 
what a pretty lane going up that hill ! Oh, Honor, if you 
were only well enough to walk about ! ” 

“ I may be — ‘ some other evening.’ ” 

The tone of the last speaker was so languid that her 
companion looked at her a moment anxiously before she 
smiled at the silly bit of slang — which, coming from Honor 
Kent’s composed, unsmiling, delicate lips, sounded very 
ridiculous. The girls, cousins by birth and friends by 
choice, occupied a comfortable compartment in the train, 
reaching Beckford at five-thirty on the September day 
when Winnie and Nona Marston were discussing the 
General’s ward, Dorothy Kent. Between the two was 
personally a difference striking enough to bring out the 
strong points of each, for whereas Dolly was in blooming 
health, — a tall young Diana with deep, gray eyes, abundant 
brown hair, with copper-colored tones about it, — Honor was 
like a delicately-tinted miniature painting ; exquisitely 
lovely, but with the pink and white which so often hints 
at decline. Her blue eyes, tranquil as a child’s, had their 

11 


12 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


gleam of fun now and again, but none of tlie peculiar ten- 
derness which lay in the very depths of Dolly Kent’s 
brightest glance ; and where Dolly’s laugh would come 
sweetly and clearly, and a bewitching dimple show in one 
cheek. Honor’s faint smile just curved her lips wdth a touch 
of sarcasm in it, wholly out of keeping with what one 
might efpect from such a dainty, flower-like creature. 
Both girls were nearly of an age ; Dolly’s twentieth birth- 
day, just passed, being but a few months in advance of 
Honor’s ; yet, perhaps from their early life in the country 
as much as from their perfectly wholesome and careful 
training, both girls looked, as their friend Sybil Anderson 
said, “ absurdly ” young for their years — the innocence, 
the trust, the faith of childhood, being in both faces — 
tinged with deeper spirituality, perhaps, in Dolly’s fair 
eyes; not hurt by the faint touch of cynicism which, in- 
deed, was childish on Honor’s part. Brought up in a 
country town, like sisters, their lives for the last two years 
arid a half had been, from force of circumstances, apart, for 
Dolly had been in Hew York with friends, then abroad, 
and Honor’s delicate health had obliged her to spend both 
winters in the South. Now, when Dolly, who, after her 
mother’s death, had been formally adopted by her old 
cousin, the somewhat eccentric General Bering, was to 
spend a month “ learning her duties ” at The Glen, she had 
pleaded for H nor’s company, and the doctors, who were 
consulted about her case, declared no harm could be done 
and much good might result from such a visit. 

Just how it had come about that Dolly Kent had become 
as his own child to General Bering has been in part else- 
where related. There was, perhaps, less romance and 
mystery connected with her young life than Beckford 
people fancied, and yet, in the past three years, events had 


DOLLY COMES HOME. 


13 


crowded quickly. It was a little longer ago that she had 
come from her beloved home in Johnsburg on a visit to 
'New York, memorable in many ways. There had been 
mortification, misery, and perplexity during the first weeks, 
but, as in nearly all experiences of life faced bravely and 
honestly, there were compensations. She had made fast 
friends of an ennobling order with a Dr. Andersoft and his 
family, and she had been able to relieve her father, through 
General Bering, of a heavy financial care. Dolly, on a 
second visit, during her parents’ absence abroad, had tried 
to fill the place long made vacant by the aunt whom he 
had adopted, and who died before Dolly was born. To 
part with her, even for a time, was a trial to the lonely, 
aged man, but Avhen Squire Kent died suddenly abroad, he 
generously sent the young girl, with her governess, to join 
her mother in Italy and bring her tenderly home. But 
Dolly reached Florence only to find her mother very ill. 
Weeks passed before there could be a thought of moving 
her ; then came an urgent letter from the old General. 
“I look upon Dorothy as my own daughter,” he wrote, 
“to replace the one I lost so cruelly twenty years ago. 
Keep her over there a year. Get strong and well. Travel 
and let Dolly study. I will see to your business in Johns- 
burg.” 

A letter of credit, more than ample for the widow’s needs, 
was enclosed. Dolly and her mother discussed the question 
of accepting it, for days. Meanwhile a second letter came, 
more urgent than the first. “Do not deny this happiness 
to my lonely old age,” he wrote ; and added in a postscript 
Were the words, “Let this Dorothy repair the wrong of 
years ago by being as my own.” As Dolly read these lines 
there flashed back upon her mind the wintry day when part 
of the General’s sad story had been told her by the old 


14 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


man himself. The child he and his wife had adopted had 
been an aunt of her own, claimed by her grandfather just 
when they loved her most, never to be seen by the only 
real parent she had ever known until, more than a year 
later, she lay in her last, long sleep. Dolly recalled the 
depth of melancholy in the old man’s voice and eyes as he 
told par'^of the story, recalled his generosity, the unwonted 
tenderness with which he had asked her to fill the long- 
vacant place. “Oh, mother!” she exclaimed earnestly, 
“ surely it would be wronging him again to let our pride 
stand in the way. Can’t you see it is as much for his hap- 
piness as our good?” 

There had been no question of accepting the old soldier’s 
kindness after this. But the year had not ended before 
Mrs. Kent succumbed to a quick fever, and Dolly found 
herself alone, it seemed to her, in a strange, unreal world. 
So close had been the bond between mother and child that 
with its breaking Dolly’s own life seemed to lose its grasp 
on earth. The shock prostrated the girl for weeks. Her 
governess, Mrs. Hale, watched her with unremitting ten- 
derness and care ; then, as life seemed to reassert itself, and 
the young girl’s natural vitality carried her into a place of 
peace found for those who “ who look to Him ” and trust 
in “abiding love,” it was decided she and Mrs. Hale should 
remain a few months longer in the south of France, where 
study was resumed. There were weekly letters to and 
from home ; a tranquil routine of life went on, strengthen- 
ing the girl’s shaken forces, and bringing her the satisfac- 
tion of knowing that she was doing the old General’s will, 
and best preparing herself to be, as he said, “his daugh- 
ter,” in the last years of a very lonely and often embittered 
life. Relatives of the Andersons, named Thorndyke, had 
joined Mrs. Hale and her charge. There had been spent 


DOLLY COMES HOME. 


15 


some days to be cherished always as a tender, peaceful 
memory, come what would. If Dolly had not grown in 
worldly wisdom it was not because soul, and mind, and 
heart had not expanded ; but there are some natures — 
Heaven be thanked — to whom it is impossible to put forth 
roots or tendrils in unhealthy soil, and Dorothy Kent’s was 
one of these. By no means faultless, as her mother knew, 
yet how often after the General’s wishes were made known, 
had that mother thanked God for the purity of her child’s 
heart. Well she was aware of the responsibility which 
Dolly’s heirship must entail. It must come soon to her 
bright, unworldly girl to face a world in which only the 
sincerity of tried friends and impartial counsellors could be 
trusted, and thankful as Mrs. Kent could not but feel that 
her cherished daughter’s future was assured, yet she often 
dreaded the glamors of wealth and position touching the 
fearless simplicity, the high-minded faith in human nature 
which was Dolly’s most potent charm, giving her a power 
of sympathy with others which drew many hearts to her ; 
lighting the depths of her sweet eyes with a look kindled 
from a soul pure as her Creator had given it to her keep- 
ing ; curving her lips in that happy smile which was at 
once innocent and bewitching, and even, as her mother 
thought, giving to the very tones of her voice a cadence of 
sweetness and truth which made her serious speeches so di- 
rect in their influence, her gay or merry ones so fascinating. 
That a touch or mar should come to this fair young nature 
was the mother’s dread as she felt her clasp on earthly 
bonds loosening ; but Dolly, fearless in her ignorance of 
life, knew and guessed at no fear of the kind. If to bo 
strong of heart, and soul, and body ; to be young and hope- 
ful ; to love loyally and believe firmly things “ seen and 
unseen to be joyous over the thought of making brighter 


16 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


those she loved, means to be happy and content, then as the 
train reached Beckford this September evening Dolly Kent 
must have been so. It was really the beginning of her 
new honors and dignities. Abroad she had only been a 
school-girl, with limitations in various ways. But now she 
was going to take up life in earnest, as mistress of her 
cousin’s home, his housekeeper and child in one, and during 
the past week every one around her had made it clear to the 
girl that her position was one of supreme importance. Even 
Mrs. Hale had seemed to step back a little from the place 
of teacher and mentor into that of the faithful but admir- 
ing chaperone. Sitting in one corner of the compartment 
was a young woman, Dolly’s own maid, and on all sides 
were evidences of the luxurious ways of living now to be 
hers. Abroad they had been more simple in every way, 
Mrs. Hale wisely shielding her charge from the attentions 
any display might bring about ; but here it was all changed. 
General Bering had been lavish in everything connected 
with his “ child’s ” comfort and important station. Her very 
costume, pale fawn-colored cloth, with rich touches of dark 
brown; the wrap lined with crimson silk, the broad-brimmed 
hat covered with ostrich plumes, were evidences of the new 
magic of fortune and “ high ” destiny which had touched 
all about her ; but if Dolly had searched the inmost re- 
cesses of her heart I am sure she would have found that 
what she valued most were hopes and ambitions not to be 
bought with gold. She would not have been human had 
not all tlie state and distinction of her new life — the fact 
of her generous allowance even — been without keen charm 
and direct fascination, but only that morning, while twist- 
ing about on her finger a valuable ring the General had 
given her on her birthday, she had smiled, knowing that of 
all the many trinkets in her possession the least costly was 


DOLLY COMES HOME. 


17 


what she prized the most. Not from any sentiment stronger 
than the friendship it suggested, and indeed really with 
little direct personality in what it meant, but because it 
spoke of things which were dearer to the girl’s mind than 
anything in life. High hopes, generous ideals, the best and 
the truest to be wrought out in the ‘‘career” Dolly told 
herself she was beginning, all this the little locket fash- 
ioned like a heartsease, and with a memorable date, three 
years ago said to her, just as clearly as the words inscribed 
upon the back, “ For remembrance,” conjured up scenes and 
hours she would never willingly forget. 


3 


CHAPTER III. 


A STRANGE COM]^UNICATION. 

The train rushed into Beckford and Dolly found herself 
the object of solemn attention from the conductor, who as- 
sisted the party to alight, and the liveried footman, who 
was waiting on the platform to conduct them to the car- 
riage sent up from town the day before. Meanwhile the 
girls were both slightly amused by the way they were 
watched, some of the people about the depot being well 
aware that one of the two young ladies must be Miss Kent, 
about whom so much curiosity and interest was already 
excited. Honor’s graceful languor, her air of invalidism, 
which she really tried to conceal, as well as her delicate 
prettiness, were much admired ; but it was soon evident 
that the tall young lady, in the beautiful plumed hat, with 
the clear, sweet voice and more energetic manner must be 
the one, and while they were all settling themselves in the 
carriage many eager glances followed them, and it had no 
sooner rolled away up the hill than tongues were loosened 
and comments passed freely. 

“ Rather young to take so much on her shoulders,” an 
old man who had fought under the General in two wars, 
said slowly, “ but she looks as if she could hold her own.” 

“ But who’s the other ? ” some one asked. 

“Mrs. Hale, the governess, I’m told. I’ve heard her 
called the chaperone.” 

“Ko — the little girl with fair hair.” 

“ Oh, some one of the family. Well, the General will 
18 


A STRANGE COMMUNICATION. 


19 


be up here himself to-morrow, my Sammy sa3’'s,” said old 
Bowcher, trying to conceal his satisfaction in knowing so 
much of the great man’s movements. “I’ll be on hand to 
see him,” etc., etc. 

So the talk went on, Bowcher supplying details about 
Dolly’s history from imagination, where knowledge failed 
him, and the group about deciding it would be a grand 
thing when Miss Kent was head of the General’s house. 

Meanwhile Dolly and Honor were questioning Mrs. 
Hale — a Beckfordite — eagerly about all the houses and 
sights they were passing. Dorothy remembered that 
the Hildreths, near relatives of the General’s, lived here ; 
but on this subject, Mrs. Hale, a comfortable-looking, 
plump, little middle-aged lady, — admirable it would seem, 
at all points in her present capacity, — either could not or 
would not speak, and Dolly found enough to absorb her 
attention in other things. A rich sunset had just begun to 
tinge the country, and one of Dolly’s first associations with 
her new home was the quaint, irregular “River House” of 
the Marstons, whose many windows had caught the earliest 
glow. A wide covered porch at one end looked most 
picturesque, as did the queer peaked windows of the second 
story, both hung with vines sparkling with raindrops and 
glistening in the sun. The rather wild, but gay and old- 
fashioned garden beds, the glimpse of old orchard and 
willow-bound brook, all made a charming setting for the 
house at “ Dolly’s gates,” as Kona had said, and already 
the girls decided if such was the Marstons’ home they must 
be delightful neighbors. 

But, naturally enough, there was the General’s house to 
attract and rivet their attention. Up a smooth, curving 
drive they bowled, coming in view of a very long, irregu- 
lar, two-storied and attic house, built of gray stone, well 


20 


FOR HONOR’ iS SAKE, 


cut and fitted, perfect masonry, and although not following 
any set rule or design, certainly gaining in charm. In 
point of fact the house had been a good-sized cottage when 
the General purchased it ; and a wing added here and 
there, broad windows “thrown out” on the lower floor, and 
which curved on to garden beds ; an oddly-shaped L, and 
on the second story good balconies, all made up as pictur- 
esque a country dwelling as could be devised ; neither 
stately nor imposing, perhaps, but far more suggestive of 
home and interior comforts than the grand old house in 
New York could ever be. It certainly must abound in 
rooms, Dolly thought, but cosiness and odd nooks and cor- 
ners would give way to what was merely spacious. 

Simms the butler, who much to Mrs. Moper’s relief had 
arrived that morning, opened the door with his usual cere- 
monious manner, and the girls found themselves in a large 
hall with easy-chairs, a centre table of good proportions, a 
wide fireplace where, lest the night prove chill, some logs 
were burning; doors to right and left, just as Dolly expected; 
irregular and suggesting rooms, built for comfort and not 
stiff elegance. To the left wound a pretty staircase. Going 
forward they caught glimpses through the portieres, or open 
doorways, of a series of pretty rooms : a dining-room, with 
a table daintily laid and a beautiful great window ; a 
square, deeply-windowed drawing-room, furnished richly 
but not overdone ; a sort of boudoir or reception-room, all 
white woods and blue and white tapestries ; a library and 
little “bower ” of a place at the lower end of the hall, just 
fit to idle in of a Sunday morning. 

Mrs. Moper came forward, full of anxiety about the bed- 
rooms she had prepared. Mrs. Hale, knowing the house, 
had written what she ought to have aired and lighted, and 
going up the wide shallow-stepped staircase, lighted by a 


A COlfMGmCATIOJV^, 


21 


deep window, she ushered the girls into tlie two she 
thought they would like. They were somewhat primly 
furnished, but certainly very inviting, fronting the west, 
and having about them an air of old-fashioned elegance 
and grace which captivated Dolly at once. The curtain- 
hung beds were spotlessly white, the quaint dressing-tables 
might have been made a hundred years ago, the pictures on 
the wall were all of a pastoral character — shepherds and 
shepherdesses in pinks and greens and grays, a rather faded 
landscape, and a water-color portrait in Dolly’s room, evi- 
dently the work of an amateur but well-trained hand. 

The two girls gazed about almost in silence, until Mrs. 
Hale, having gone to her own room and Jane the maid 
being busy downstairs about the trunks, they turned invol- 
untarily to one another and began to laugh ! There was 
something in their position — in Dolly’s importance — which 
for the moment struck them only as funny ! 

‘‘ Why, Dorothy Kent,” said Honor, “ you ought to be 
ashamed of yourself ! . Don’t you know you’re a veri/ distin- 
guished person ? Don’t dare to laugh — but — oh, dear ” 

Honor broke off and sank down in a deep wicker chair, 
regarding her cousin with the funniest expression. “ I 
can’f help feeling how ridiculous it is for you and me to 
be setting up for such grandees. Pm not one, of course, 
but I’m the grandee’s cousin, and I feel like somebody in a 
book ! But I verily believe I could do the young lady of 
the Manor better than you ! ” 

She sprang up and began to walk about with a dozen 
little airs and graces, Dolly laughing gayly. A tap on the 
door sent Honor flying back to her own room and gravity, 
while Dolly said, ‘‘ Come in,” in a smothered way. 

It was Mrs. Moper with a note on a little tray. 

‘‘ I promised the lady. Miss Kent, I’d see you got this 


52 


FOB HONOR'S SAKE. 


right from my own hand,” she said politely, but with curi- 
ous significance. 

t Left alone, Dolly went over to the window, and opening 
her communication, was surprised by the signature even 
before she liad read a line ; but the contents, written by 
Mrs. Hildreth, were even more perplexing. Was it to be a 
first shock or a first duty. Dolly, with a puzzled brow, read 
as follows : 

My Dear Dorothy : 

I have no doubt you remember meeting me long ago at General 
Bering’s house during one of my visits there. Since then a little 
coolness has deepened into something almost like estrangement be- 
tween my dear brother-in-law and myself, and dearly as I would 
have wished to meet you to-day I felt it wiser to write first. You, of 
course, are mistress of the house, and I congratulate you on a posi- 
tion of so much importance. I have but one child — a darling girl of 
about your age, and if you and she could be friends, a foolish family 
quarrel might be forgotten, and a young girl — my Floy — made 
brighter and happier. At one time she was a petted favorite of her 
uncle’s — now, alas, I cannot give her even the ordinary pleasures of a 
young girl’s life — but in your present position, you, my child, might 
easily, and with wo loss to yourself, do so. I would like you to re- 
quest permission from the General for my child to call upon you. 
At the same time may I ask you not to show him this. Of course, if 
you like, tell him — but only him — that I have written. Remember 
every word is from a mother's heart. My Floy does not know I am 
writing anything of the kind. I leave the matter to your generosity 
and tact. 

Yours sincerely, 

Hannah Hildreth. 

The Cottage, 10 River Avenue. 

Dolly stood still a long time with this curious letter in 
her hands, rereading it and wondering what it all meant ; 
wliat she ought to do. Of course she would speak to her 
guardian, of course urge upon him to grant Mrs. Hildreth’s 


A STIiAJVGB COMMUNIGATION. 


23 


request — but unworldly- wise though she was, something in 
the letter betrayed a spirit from which lier own shrank. 
The sentence ^^with no loss to yourself was peculiarly 
displeasing. “Why should I be told that?” thouglit 
Dolly indignantly. It seemed to suggest she could not be 
freely generous in the midst of her abundance ; but other 
words touched the young girl and counterbalanced the 
first feeling of revulsion — from a mother^ s heart 
Dolly’s eyes had a mist in them as she reread the line, and 
thought of that far-away grave where all that had been 
mortal of her own darling mother lay ! Oh, for her wise 
counsels ; the touch of her tender hand ; the sound of her 
sweet voice once again ! And with a sudden, quick sigh, 
half a sob, poor little Dolly realized, in the midst of her 
“ importance,” that the dearest of all blessings — the' one of 
all others whose love and sympathy was never lacking and 
always wise — was no longer in her daily life. Tears were 
very nearly falling fast, as with a much softer feeling she 
slipped her letter in her pocket and answered Honor’s call, 
hastily wiping her eyes, and remembering that she was 
hostess ; that Honor’s gayety must not be checked this 
first night in her — their — new home. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE HILDRETHS. 

While Dorothy Kent and her companions were being 
driven through Beckford to The Glen a strange scene was 
taking place in a cottage half a mile down one of the first 
of the village streets. It was a pretty cottage — unpretend- 
ing, but not without some air ” of its own. Although 
the first floor windows— drawing and dining-room either 
side of a tiny hall — looked out upon the street, divided there- 
from by a very small garden and painted fence, there was 
what every one in Beckford considered an air of elegance 
and exclusiveness about the little dwelling, carried out in 
the muslin and silk hangings visible in the windows, the 
glimpses to be caught of costly rugs, bric-a-brac, and a 
suggestion of furniture almost too rich for so small a place. 
The village people classified Mrs. Hildreth and her daugh- 
ter according to their estimate of a cottage furnished with 
so much “taste”; and the fact of their rarely paying or 
encouraging visits deepened the impression that the ladies 
must be people of “ consideration,” whose society would be 
valuable, indeed, if it were to be had. 

On this September evening, however, the little drawing- 
room presented a domestic scene hardly in keeping with 
the estimate Beckfordians placed on the Hildreths’ elegance 
and repose of manner. A girl of eighteen — dark-e3’^ed, 
dark-haired, pale, with that exquisite ivory pallor which 
belongs to a certain type of brunette ; slimly built, but 
graceful in every line — was pacing the floor excitedly, 


THE HILDRETHS. 


25 


while a tall, thin-lipped, but coldly handsome woman of 
middle age looked on and listened to the girl’s ravings in 
despair. 

‘‘ You are perfectly crazy, mother ! ” the girl was saying, 
lifting a pair of blazing dark eyes to Mrs. Hildreth’s stony 
face. “Y say I will not go near her — the mean, pushing 
creature ! If you had only acted with some spirit ! But 
now you have put us completely in her power ! ” 

“ It is you who are crazy, Florence,” said Mrs. Hildreth, 
her tone half angry, half timid. In these moods the poor 
woman was afraid of exciting Florence. For years had 
not the girl suffered from these passionate outbreaks, and 
had the mother ever tried to discipline her ? “ If you only 

listen to reason everything might go well ! What would 
we gain by standing off? We should then simply be in 
the dark about everything ! I can tell you,” added the 
widow, pushing up the advantage which her daughter’s 
silence gave, “ I mean to meet her in the friendliest spirit 
possible ! ” 

Floy stood still, her eyes still blazing, her small hand 
clenched. 

‘‘ Then, I warn you, mother ; if you do, you will repent 
it ! I shall tell her just what I think ! Now, mother — 
take care ! ” 

A dull red came into Mrs. Hildreth’s cheek. It w'as so 
dreadful to see Floy like this ! So dreadful to feel she her- 
self was partially to blame ! It struck the unhappy woman 
with a pang, as she looked at the angry young creatui-e 
before her, that if long ago she had been “wiser,” every- 
thing might have been so different. Unless her temper 
betrayed itself, Florence was one of those beings who pos- 
sess a curious, subtle faculty for drawing people toward 
them, overcoming prejudice, forcing them, as it were, into 


26 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


a sort of submission even to her caprices. She was by no 
means actually beautiful ; slie was not even very clever ; 
and she certainly lacked gentle feelings such as win a re- 
turn even in a selfish world. But there was a peculiar 
gift about her looks ; something no one could pass by or 
forget, about her manner, when she chose. Even her 
silence — the sort of gloom which sometimes seemed to 
overshadow her and become part of her soft, shadowy 
eyes, and slender, graceful figure — -had its effect ! Had 
the girl been disciplined better — less wayward, the mother 
told herself — there could have been no question as to which 
one of the two girls the General would have chosen as his 
acknowledged heir ! If only she herself had been a little 
mo.re far-seeing, and made Floy long ago behave. 

“ You can do as you like,” the mother said, in a moment. 
“ You will stand in your own light as a matter of course. 
You always have. You will thwart all my plans.” She 
rose and walked stiffly toward the door. “ You have been 
disobedient and ungrateful all your life, and now you will 
be the one to suffer for it.” 

Left alone, Florence clasped her hands angrily together ; 
then flinging herself upon the couch, burst into agonized 
weeping. Tears such as these, although only the result of 
temper on Floy’s part, generally brought her mother almost 
to beg her child’s forgiveness for harshness in word or act ; 
but Mrs. Hildreth, who was only in the room across the 
hall, paid no attention to Floy’s hysterical sobbing now. 
She was sitting in the dining-room window, looking out 
bitterly on the twilit street and the little garden, trying to 
decide what course to pursue in regard to the General’s 
ward, young Do”y Ilent. In spite of the reproaches she 
had uttered, Mrs. Hildreth felt no less resentfully than her 
daughter ; but looking back she realized clearly enough that 


THE HILDRETHS. 


27 


the break between the General and herself had been the 
result of her own folly. She hardly liked, even in thought, 
to call it anything worse. A dread of being deceived, 
a hatred of anything underhand, was almost morbid in 
the old man, who, alas, had suffered keenly at the hands 
of those he had loved and cherished long ago. More than 
one had “ duped ” him, and, as Mrs. Hildreth well knew, 
having for her own purposes, years since, schemed and de- 
ceived him, she could expect no quarter. And yet, in 
some dim way, the poor creature felt that Dolly Kent’s im- 
pulsive, high-minded sympathies could be employed to 
reinstate her and her daughter in the General’s favor. 
Cold, shrewd, calculating, naturally hypocritical, Mrs. Hil- 
dreth might be ; incapable of any lofty motive ; equal to 
any scheming which might suit her purpose, and yet one 
wholly unselfish, pure-minded feeling burned, a steady and 
self-sacrificial flame, in her breast. For Floy’s, sake — from 
passionate, absolute love of her child — she would have, if 
necessary for the girl’s happiness, walked on hot plough- 
shares or bowed her head on the block, and it maddened 
her to think that the brilliant social life which was her one 
idea of well-being for the girl must be denied her because 
of her own means she could not give it ; and since General 
Bering had detected her underhand methods in certain 
ways, he had refused to admit Floy’s claim upon his hos- 
pitality or his purse. True, they had an allowance from 
him and the Beckford cottage; but, thought the ambitious 
mother, what a setting for Floy with her brilliancy, her 
powers of attraction ! “ I will carry my point through,” 

the widow reflected, sitting alone in the soft dusk, only 
half conscious of the sounds ‘ which re9r!hed her from the 
drawing-room, “and Angus Bering will find the girl he 
has put in Floy’s place will be my means of doing it. I’m 


28 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


greatly mistaken if I can’t win her over to niy way of 
thinking, and then let her influence the old man.” 

There was the sound of a quick tread on the roadway. 
The garden gate clicked and a tall young man came up the 
short path to the front door. Floy, in spite of her weep- 
ing, had seen him first, and the result was a sobbing cessa- 
tion of tears ; she had not the least objection to exciting 
Fred Marston’s sympathy, but she wanted to dry her eyes 
and smooth her ruffled hair before he came in. 

“ Mother,” she called out sharply, “ it is Fred. Take 
him in the dining-room first for a moment.” 

And so, when Alice, the trim housemaid, in pretty cap 
and white apron, opened the door to this favored guest at 
the cottage, she obeyed instructions and ushered him into a 
tiny room adjoining the dining-room, where she had to lay 
the cloth for the late dinner, a rule at the cottage, which 
confirmed Beckford in the impression that the Hildreths 
were decidedly people of elegance and fashion. 


CHAPTER V. 


FRED TO THE RESCUE. 

Young Marston returned home about ten o’clock veiy 
well pleased with his evening, and particularly well satis- 
fied with himself. Even he had gradations of feeling in 
this respect, thei^e being some times when he was more 
conscious of his own powers than others, and the events of 
this evening had certainly put him into a most comfortable 
frame of mind. Had he but known it, however, the “ con- 
fidence ” which Mrs. Hildreth had so flatteringly put in 
him was only a bit of her diplomacy. Like a flash it oc- 
curred to her that Fred Marston, of whom Floy thought so 
much, and who certainly influenced her more than any one 
else, might be extremely useful just now, and so, while 
she obe3^ed Floy’s request and detained him for a few mo- 
ments in the little sitting-room, she made the most of her 
opportunity — begged him to consider what she said strictly 
confidential, and then went on to explain how the “ sad es- 
trangement ” between her brother-in-law and herself pained 
her ; how injurious it was to Floy’s future, and yet how 
the “poor child’s pride rebelled against any conciliatory 
measures.” 

“ You have so much influence with her, Fred,” the widow 
continued, in the most supplicating tones. “ Do, I beg of 
you, use it well now and persuade her that she must make 
friends with Miss Kent.” Fred’s character in many ways 
w^as an open book to the shrewd woman of the world, and 
well she knew that he loved ease and luxury and personal 


30 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


comforts more than “ pride ” and high-minded self-sacrifices, 
so that as an ally he could be counted upon if he thought 
material gains would result for Florence and her mother. 
“ If she only exercises a little proper policy and self-con- 
trol now, the General will perhaps do anything for her. I 
feel, as you know, as if you were a son of my own, Fred — 
do help me in this ! And perhaps with this Dorothy Kent, 
you can make her see things in the right light.” 

Altogether, Master Fred may be excused for feeling, as 
he sought Florence in the little lamp-lit drawing-room, as 
though he were an ambassador well worthy of the most 
difficult bit of diplomacy — for what were his twenty-two 
years and social experience compared to the knowledge 
of human nature and the w^orld an elderly woman of Mrs. 
Hildreth’s position must have acquired ? Therefore, if she 
trusted him, did it not clearly prove his peculiar powers ? 
And Fred, poor fellow, had other infiuences at work. For 
two years — since he had first seen and known her, Floy 
Hildreth had been his ideal among women — his princess — 
his dream of something ineffably beautiful and wonderful 
in the future ! Even selfish, hard natures like Fred 
Marston’s can be capable of heroic feeling of this kind, 
capable of poetry and romance, when they fancy their ideal 
among all women has been found, and to Fred, Florence, 
with her brilliant, tempestuous sort of charm, her graceful 
ways, her clever speeches, was a creature all perfect and 
to be adored. The rare glimpses he had caught of her 
temper did not dismay him, poor lad ; he thought they 
added sparkle to her nature, which, as he well knew, had 
its moods of something like gloom — as though a sombre 
cloud had suddenly been flung across what was almost 
too dazzling to be human nature’s daily food,” and he 
enjoyed her sharp retort to something said, or that peculiar 


FRED TO THE RESCUE. 


31 


flash of her eyes which many people — especially her long- 
suffering mother — knewboded no one good. And to do her 
justice Floy was really at her best with Fred. Something 
in the absoluteness of his admiration for her, — his faith in 
her, never spoken, but expressed in countless ways, — touched 
the girl curiously. Perhaps she was at heart aware that in 
her short young life many people had praised, flattered, 
even admired her, hut very few had believed in her — a still 
smaller number had ever loved her. 

The sight of her pale cheeks and heavy eyelids had 
almost unnerved poor Fred for the task of stern philoso- 
pher and mentor set him, hut as he walked home in the 
moonlight, beating small objects out of his way with his 
light spruce cane, he congratulated himself heartily. Had 
he not been taken into Mrs. Hildreth’s confidence com- 
pletely, and had he not “ brought Floy around ” to their 
views with the skill of a genuine born diplomat ? Ko 
wonder the evening had seemed so satisfactory and de- 
lightful. Then the cosy little dinner, the well-appointed 
table and deft service— so different from the noisy 
scrambling meals at home ! All the household and do- 
mestic elements at the cottage seemed to this unsophisti- 
cated but epicurean young man as the very essence of what 
made life perfect. How lovely Floy had looked seated op- 
posite him at table, the soft lamplight touching her sad lit- 
tle face, showing him the wonderful eyes, wistful in ex- 
pression— not flashing— after her sorrowful weeping ! And 
Mrs. Hildreth ! How gracious, how restful were her man- 
ners ! 

“ Fred,” Floy had said to him in her prettiest manner, 
“why have not Nona and Winnie been down here lately ? 
Perhaps,” she laughed sadly, “ they are going over to the 
enemy, and of course must desert poor little me ! 


32 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


“ The enemy ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Hildreth, delighted at 
Floy’s change of tone. Of course she was well aware that 
her daughter was subject to twenty variations of mood in 
as many hours, but this graciousness of tone after the storm 
was a quicker change than usual. “ Don’t call Dolly Kent 
the enemy ^ love ! What has she done or said to deserve 
the name ? ” 

“ Somebody has made her think badly of me, perhaps,” 
sighed Florence. “ But, Fred, don’t let her take all my 
little kingdom ! Tell the girls I’ll not be deposed with 
them ; and you will see this — this new friend, I suppose ? 
Are you going to desert, too, I wonder ! ” 

Fred fairly laughed outright ; not so much because what 
Floy said amused him in itself, but because, poor boy, he 
was thinking — if she only knew ! desert her, indeed ! But 
how sweet and generous it was of her to talk in this way 
about her rival. 

“ I certainly shall call upon Miss Kent very soon,” he 
answered. “ And, Miss Floy, you need not ask what I 
shall say about you ! ” 

And again Floy sighed. 

“ I know ! You will tell her I am proud and disagree- 
able and unsociable. Oh, I know ! ” 

“ Of course,” rejoined Fred, laughing again. It was all 
delightful to the poor, foolish young fellow, who at that 
moment longed for the old days of chivalry to be back 
again that he might go forth as this damsel’s knight 
errant. Fred’s moral consciousness, or his instincts to- 
ward the best, did not suggest that even in this every-day 
world acolades are to be won in a hundred ways — knight- 
hood deserved and chivalry possible ! He would have 
liked Florence to demand something striking, startling, re- 
markable of him ; but I rather fear, like the pilgrim in the 


FRED TO THE RESCUE. 


33 


old tale, had he been sent forth to walk with peas in his 
shoes he would have seen to it that they were tenderly 
boiled in advance ! 

“ Then I can depend upon you to give me a good ‘ recom- 
mend ’ to her royal highness,” said Floy, still light in tone. 
“ Perhaps, if I am allowed, I will nerve myself up to visit 
the dear old house again.” She did not consider it neces- 
sary to say the “ dear old house ” had not been visited 
since she was three years old, and Fred saw only in the 
words a tender meaning which nerved him to new resolu- 
tions for the very diplomatic interview he meant to have 
with Dolly Kent as speedily as possible. 

An experience like this evening’s acted like a tonic upon 
his mind and nerves, and he strode along toward home, his 
handsome head held high, a smile curving his lips, and 
feeling as if the world itself lay at his feet. He would 
show Mrs. Hildreth and Floy that — in a correct way — 
General Bering had met a ‘‘ foernan worthy of his steel,” 
and as he was framing something very adroit for his first 
meeting with Dolly, he passed along the hedgerow skirting 
The Glen lawn, and glanced mockingly at the picturesque 
house, clearly defined in the moonlight which flooded and 
vibrated all through the country. And just at that moment 
he saw the doorway of the house open and a girl’s figure 
appeared. She seemed in some agitation, and ran hastily 
down the nearest pathway ; then, catching sight of Fred’s 
figure, stood still, calling out in an anxious voice : 

“ Is that you — who is it ? ” 

Fred, still in an overstrung, excited frame of mind, 
stepped forward quickly, lifting his hat. 

“ It is Frederick Marston,” he said, in a voice almost 
as anxious as her own. It had flashed upon him suddenly 
that this might be Miss Kent, and the meeting had a touch 
3 


34 


■ FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


of mystery and romance in it which quite fitted in with his 
present mood. 

“ Oh ! ” Dolly — for it was she — moved back a little. 
“ Excuse me ; I thought — I hoped it might be the doctor ; 
the man was sent an hour ago — and we are so anxious ; my 
cousin has been taken very ill ! ’’ 

Fred saw his opportunity at a glance. 

“ Is this Miss Kent ? ” he said eagerly, holding his hat in 
his hand and drawing nearer. “ Pray let me be of any 
service possible. We are your next door neighbors, you 
know, and old friends.” 

Dolly, in her terrible anxiety for Honor, thought nothing 
whatever of demanding any possible service from any mor- 
tal who could help them. 

“ Oh, it is very kind ! ” she said quickly. “ The man 
they sent has been gone an hour, and Simms chanced to be 
out. I must have a doctor at once.” 

“ Then let me go for one,” said Fred, still eager and 
excited. “ No harm can be done even if two of them 
come.” 

“ Nor a dozen ! ” cried Dolly. “ You are very good — 
thank you — only do hurry ! ” 

And before Fred could answer she had turned and was 
speeding back to the house, her pale gray draperies clearly 
revealed in the moonlight, just as her fair, sweet, anxious 
face had been to him a moment before. 

Never had Fred carried a message so rapidly or with 
greater success. It was he instead of old Francis who 
returned first with the best practitioner in Beckford, and 
what more natui’al than that he should be admitted into 
the house almost like an old friend, and while the doctor 
was upstairs with Mrs. Hale and Dolly in Honor’s room, it 
was only courtesy for him fo wait in the drawing-room for 


FRED TO THE RESCUE. 


35 


word how the patient was, after what Dolly called “ the 
attack.” 

Frederick would not have been true to himself, had he 
not, during that quiet half hour, while the house was still 
with the awful hush of suspense which means so much on 
such occasions, occupied his mind wholly with himself. 
Could it be that in one evening three people, in great 
emergencies of life and death, had turned to Aim for 
succor, advice, help ? Fred had no idea that Dolly would 
have allowed any passer-by to do the errand as well as 
himself. Certainly, he reflected, there is a will power — a 
mastery in some minds. Visions of acting as emissary, 
peace-maker, commander-in-chief of all these mingled 
forces, floated before him, and the prospect of a country 
law practice, which had once seemed so flne, was cast from 
him in that high-strung, self-glorifying hour with disdain. 

He started suddenly at sound of a quick footstep and the 
rustle of drapery. It was Mrs. Hale, who had come in to 
thank him, and report the doctor’s verdict. She held out 
her hand and murmured something about remembering him 
long ago. 

“ We are so much obliged,” the lady said tremulously. 
“ Miss Honor Kent has been very delicate, and she was 
taken suddenly with an attack of the lungs which seemed 
very dangerous. Dr. Gore says she must be kept perfectly 
quiet and have every care for some days. You see, we had 
so few people here, and Simms was out ! How fortunate 
you found the doctor in ! Francis went, it seems, for some 
one else, who was out.” 

“ I am only too thankful to have been of any use,” said 
Fred, with a most important manner. ‘‘ What further can 
I do ? or my cousin and sister — we are right next door, you 
know.” 


36 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


‘‘'Nothing now, thank you,” said Mrs. Hale kindly. 
“ But in the morning if there is anything, I will let you 
know. ” 

Frederick had no further excuse for remaining. He had 
half hoped Dolly would appear, tremulous and humble in 
her thanks ; but as no sign of her coming was made, he 
could only bow himself out and make his way through a 
side gate and up the lane to the River House. Altogether, 
he told himself, the evening had been “most successful.” 
Not one thought of real sympathy crossed his mind for the 
anxious watchers in the sick-room that night — the suffering 
girl who lay there hovering between life and death. If he 
thought of it at all it was with the peculiar interest and ex- 
citement which is afforded certain people by the idea of death 
as an “ event ” — something dramatic and interesting to the 
neighborhood, giving a peculiar importance to the people who 
have the right to be on hand, to answer inquiries, to know 
details, and make “arrangements.” Nona, he decided, 
must go over to The Glen as early as possible in the morn- 
ing, and he would neglect nothing where service could be 
rendered. 


CHAPTER VI. 


A CHAOTIC BREAKFAST. 

Fred Marston’s news of the evening previous naturally 
was exciting to all the family, when he announced it at the 
breakfast table. He was down unusually early, in spite 
of having spent a rather sleepless night ; and when a cho- 
rus greeted his prompt appearance, he cut it short by ex- 
plaining briefly and loftily where he had been. Even from 
Mary Neil, Winifred could not have heard anything more 
exciting, and she was beginning a sharp cross-examination 
of Fred when Nona interrupted in a quiet, composed voice: 

“Wait a minute, Winnie. Of course, I will go over at 
once. Poor things ! What a shock for Miss Kent — and so 
soon after her arrival ! ” 

“ Did you say she was going to die, Fred ? ” cried Wini- 
fred excitedly. 

“ Oh, be quiet ! ” retorted her brother angrily. “ I said 
nothing of the kind!. Did I, Nona ? I said she was 
'Gery ill.” 

“ Well, that is almost as bad,” declared Winifred. “Es- 
pecially if Dr. Gore said it. Don’t you know, Nona, that 
wlieri Mrs. Holman’s baby was almost dead he only said it 
was a slight cold, and I’m sure that diphtheria time ” 

How far Winifred’s reminiscences and conclusive jumps 
might have carried her no one could say. Fortunately, her 
father’s appearance put a momentary check on her tongue. 
Mr. Marston was a tall, middle-aged man, with an exceed- 
ingly tine, gentle countenance, only redeemed from too 

87 


S8 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


dreamy a look by the somewhat piercing glance now and 
then roused in his deep-set blue eyes, or the occasional 
squaring of his chin when an object for real indignation 
was prominently thrust before him. He had tlie slight 
stoop of a scholar and book-worm, but apart from this his 
figure was fine and his carriage what Nona called “thorough 
Marston ” — that indefinable something which made people 
forgive or overlo the shabbiness of his every-day attire. 
He came in witi^ pleasant good-morning for all, and 
leaned back silently in his chair, while Nona, who had just 
discovered it, made haste to place her own napkin over a 
huge gravy stain at his plate. 

The news from The Glen was given him while Nona 
poured his coffee ,and Winifre 1 let the piece of bacon she 
was carrying to his plate fall on the floor. Tliis littie 
episode luckily restrained Winnie’s tongue until Nona had 
made it clear that she ought to offer her services at once. 

“ Of course, my dear ! Poor children ! Who is with 
them, Fred ? Mj’- dear Winifred — if there is any more 
bacon — not that piece off the carpet.” 

A fresh piece being produced, Fred, thoroughly irritated 
with Winnie, who held he. tongue in response to his 
glance, explained that they were not children. 

“ At least, sir. Miss Kent looks quite grown up ; and I 
judged, from Mrs. Hale’s way of speaking of the other one, 
she is not a child.” 

“ Oh, they have Mrs. Hale there, then. Excellent woman ; 
but, of course, Nona, you must go over,” said her uncle. 
“ I will call later.” 

“ The General is expected to-day,” said Fred. “ So Mrs. 
Hildreth told me.” 

“ Then I will call when he arrives. If you hear of it, 
Fred, let me know. Perhaps you had better not come 


A^GIIAOTIG BREAKFAST. 


39 


down to the office this morning — you might be needed over 
there until the General arrives.” 

‘‘Just what I was going to ask, sir,” said Frederick, in 
an unusually deferential tone. “I suppose Jenks can copy 
those papers in the Baker case.” 

“ Can he? Well, look in for an hour or so and see to 
that.” 

ii 

Father and son exchanged a few word'f further, on busi- 
ness matters, while Winnie was pourin^ ^prth a torrent of 
surmises, questions, and opinions to Nona, who listened in 
silence, quite unheeded by her cousin, who never required 
any stimulus when her curiosity was aroused. Silently 
Nona saw that Peter and Meg, the younger children, had 
their breakfast, and when ]\ir. Marston had left the room, 
followed by his eldest son, she turned a despairing look 
upon Winnie. ^ 

“ Winifred,” she said anxiously, “ W 07 iH you see to 
things while I am gone — and pray don’t rush off to Mary 
Neil with a great budget of half wrong information. You 
know how vexed uncle would be ! He might forbid your 
even going to The Glen later.” 

Winifred, who had certaii .'y resolved upon a grand talk 
with Mary, now saw there might be the awful fate Nona 
prophesied awaiting her in case she did so, and, with an air 
of resignation, promised to remain at home. 

“ And don’t you think,” Nona went on, “ you might help 
Maggie, and thoroughly clean the parlor? As for this 
room— it must wait for me to-morrow.” 

Nona smiled as she glanced around the cosily situated 
square room, with its three windows, high mantle, grate 
fireplace, and fine engravings. But with these claims to 
good looks the attractiveness of the dining-room ended. 
A side-board which tottered to one side, and was held up by 


40 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE, 


a block of wood in place of the broken leg, contained a 
variety of articles, from Peter’s roller skates to a broken 
caralfe. The chimney-piece was like a museum — its dec- 
orations too numerous to mention ; while tlie large sofa, 
table in the bay-window, and three chairs, not around the 
table, were in need of surgery, the dust cloth, and the 
varnish pot ! A well-worn Turkish carpet covered the 
floor, in the center of which stood the breakfast table, set 
out as though to compel the stoutest appetite to fail ! No 
two dishes matched. The bacon was on a bread plate, and 
a meat dish held a pile of badly cut pieces of bread from 
various bakings ; in fact, as Maggie, the good-humored, 
shiftless servant could have told you, the result of “ turnin’ 
the brid-box inside out for bits.” 

The sight was b}^ no means an unusual one to Nona ; yet 
in spite of her knowledge, that one pair of the most willing 
hands would not suflice to battle with a perversely dis- 
orderly household, she resolved, as she went up to put on 
her wraps, that another desperate effort at “ regulating ” 
should be made. It might be that Winifred could be in- 
duced to turn over a new leaf if there proved any chance 
of intimacy with the girls from The Glen, who certainly 
would despise them ail, thought poor Nona, if they knew 
the chaotic way in which Mr. Marston’s family lived. 


CHAPTER yil. 


A SHOPPING TOUR. 

. • 

Nona walked rapidly up the smooth, gravelled drive to 
General Bering’s house, a sense of the contrast between 
this place and her present home giving her a feeling half 
of pleasure in the repose and soft beauty of everything 
about her, and half of weariness with all that she had 
left. The feeling deepened when Simms ushered her into 
the beautiful, quiet drawing-room, with its air of per- 
fect harmony — its expression not only of home life, but a 
life that went on oiled wheels. The well-mannered old fam- 
ily servant, the stillness that was not now a hush, but only 
the calm of a well-regulated household ; the sunshine fall- 
ing in, not to reveal rents, patches, and dust, but a highly 
polished floor ; rugs of harmonious colors ; tables strewn 
with an inviting litter of books and magazines, sent up in 
advance of Dolly’s coming ; chairs and sofas fashioned for 
comfort and soft in color, and by no means such as make 
one dread to see a guest sit down too heavily upon them ; 
rare articles of virtu on mantle and in the ebony cabi- 
net ; flowers, freshly cut, in vases and jardinieres — all 
these objects rested Nona’s eye as she sat in the window 
awaiting Dolly’s coming, and made her wonder how it 
would feel to be mistress of such a home, to have such a 
room for every-day use and — every-day’s peace of mind. 
‘‘ Must there always be Dives and Mordecai ? ” the girl 
said to herself, smiling a little bitterly. But, in truth, 
Nona’s heart held no envy. There was the weariness of 


42 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


constant battling with the irremediable evils of her uncle’s 
home, and even physical fatigue from its noise and con- 
fusion, and the natural admiration and longing of any girl 
for the brighter, more luxurious side of life, and before 
Dolly appeared she had begun to feel that it would be 
pleasure enough if only they could make friends and some- 
times spend a day at The Glen. 

The portihre was moved back softly, and Nona rose half 
shyly as Dolly, with the sweetest air of cordiality, came 
forward to greet her guest. A night’s painful vigil had 
driven Dolly’s roses from her cheeks, and made her eyes 
unusually brilliant, but she felt like singing for gladness, as 
Dr. Gore had just pronounced Honor entirely out of dan- 
ger — only she must be kept quiet for some days. 

“ It is such a relief,” she told Nona. “ Especially as her 
mother is so far away from home with an elderly relative, 
who needed her ; and General Bering is laid up with his 
lame foot, he telegraphed me. He took cold in it.” 

‘‘ But you have every means of giving her good care,” 
said Nona, looking admiringly at her young hostess, who 
seemed to her one of the sweetest girls she had ever seen. 
“But I wish I could help — I have seen a great deal of sick- 
ness.” 

What was there in the wistfulness of Nona’s face that 
made Dolly know letting her “ help ” would be a pleasure? 

“ Why, thank you so much,” she answered. “ If I 
needed you— could they spare you at home some time ?” 

“ Yes ; yes, indeed,” cried Nona warmly. “ I should be 
so glad ! Will you send for me — or let me do anything 
now ? ” Her eyes, eager and gentle, were fastened anxiously 
on Dolly’s face. 

“Indeed, I will send ” Dolly paused a moment ; then, 

somehow, a recollection of times when shopping, even for 


A SHOPPING TOUR. 


43 


others, had given her deliglit, made her add, “ Could you 
this morning do a little shopping in the town for me ? I 
can’t go myself because of Honor, and it won’t do to trust 
it to an inexperienced person.” 

Nona laughed softly and colored. “ I am afraid I’m not 
very much experienced., Miss Kent, but it is only because 
we — I — have so little chance to do anything of the kind, 
that is all ; but it will be such a pleasure. Can you make 
a list ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, of course, and you must have the carriage, as 
some of the things are needed at once for Honor.” 

She rose to ring .the bell, but at this moment a step 
sounded on the veranda ; the bell gave a soft peal, and a 
moment later Mrs. Hildreth and her daughter were ush- 
ered into the room. 

The decision to call at once had come directly Fred 
Marston had brought the news of Honor’s dangerous and 
sudden illness. It was an opportunity not to be lost, and 
although Floy, as might be expected, otfered some resist- 
ance, her mother’s will, and excitement, carried the day. 
Surely General Bering would overlook any idea of intru- 
siveness at such a time, and accordingly — much to Dolly’s 
amazement and, it might be added, perplexity — the motlier 
and daughter made their appearance and she found herself 
greeting them mechanically almost before vshe realized 
what she was doing. Mrs. Hildreth’s cold face and metal- 
lic voice she well recalled, and saw they were not changed 
in spite of the widow’s remarkable suavity of manner ; but 
tlie girl who followed her into the room with the air of a 
princess, who smiled so calmly as she shook hands, who hM 
such a striking, fascinating sort of face, Dolly was not pre- 
pared for; and while she was answering Mrs. Hildreth’s 
rapid questions about her “ dear cousin,” this young crea- 


44 


Fon HONOR’S SAKE. 


ture, unlike any one Dolly had ever seen before, was 
calmly sitting by Nona Marston, and with her daintily 
gloved hands clasped on her knee and her graceful head 
slightly to one side was talking in a gentle monotone, and, 
as Dolly could hear, softly rebuking Nona for “deserting” 
them. 

“But I never thought of such a thing, Floy,” Nona 
exclaimed. “You know how seldom we go anywhere.” 

“Oh, but it is desertion,” Floy Hildreth said softly. 
“ But — I see — now — the reason.” 

Dolly did not catch the last words, but turning with a 
feeling of what she knew was foolish embarrassment, she 
saw the pink color on Nona’s cheeks deepened, and met a 
curious, appealing glance from Floy’s wonderful eyes. 
Nona dispelled the awkward silence by rising and sa^dng 
that if Miss Kent could give her the commissions she 
would start at once. It was a relief, and Dolly excused 
herself for a few moments, returning with her note-book 
and purse. 

“ The carriage will be here in a moment,” she said smil- 
ing upon Nona ; and added cordially, “ when you come 
back win you stay to lunch and I may ask some further 
service of you, for I feel very sure you meant what you 
said.” 

“ Meant it ! ” exclaimed Nona. She felt curiously happy. 
It was new life to her to have a day free from the worry 
and cowfiision of the River House, and perhaps — for Nona 
was only a girl and very human— there was just a touch of 
satisfaction in the fact that the Hildreths should witness 
Mss Kent’s cordiality. There had been some slights, not 
so long ago, which poor lonely Nona had felt keenly. “ Of 
course 1 meant it ! How should I not ? ” 

And while Dolly went with her to the door, Floy 


A SHOPPING TOUR. 


45 


turned a face, flushed with annoyance, to her mother. 

Little fool ! ” she whispered. “ I wonder if she really 
supposed a girl like Nona would not jump at anything 
that led to intimacy ! And if we had been half an hour 
earlier,” she added, forgetting or ignoring that it was 
she who had caused the delay, “toe might have done 
these errands ! ” 

As for Nona, every beat of her heart was honestly grate- 
ful as she drove away in the pretty satin-lined carriage, 
reading her list and glancing out now and then, sometimes 
to nod to a friend, sometimes just to enjoy the spectacle of 
the country from this novel vantage ground. And what a 
pleasure it was to sail about the different stores with a well- 
filled purse, buying this and that, ordering parcels to be 
sent to the carriage, feeling all the importance of a morn- 
ing’s shopping done carte blanche^ and with every clerk and 
porter all obsequious attention ! When Mrs. Neil, the 
doctor’s wife, met her, she was smiling and as ready as ever 
was Winifred, although, far from imprudently, to answer 
questions. Yes, Miss Honor Kent, Miss Kent’s cousin, was 
very ill, but quite out of danger. She was just doing a 
little shopping for them. 

“ So vexatious ! ” declared little Mrs. Neil, a pretty, 
tired-looking woman of thirty-six or eight, who had been 
Beckford’s greatest beauty twenty years before. “The 
doctor was out last night when Miss Kent’s messenger 
called ! I suppose they found Gore in f Oh, very likely ! 
Mrs. Neil smiled. “ Well, I will call to-day and inquire, I 
think — oh, you are in the Bering carriage ! Upon my 
word, Nona, you are ahead of all of us,” added the little 
lady, whose small weakness was for the grandeur and style 
her husband could not afford. 

“ But Uncle Will is an old friend,” said Nona, blushing 


46 


FOR UONOR'S SAKE. 


as much at her own satisfaction as the half feeling of shy- 
ness Mrs. Neil’s comments had produced. 

“How about the Hildreths, with all their airs, after 

all ” Mrs. Neil stopped, warned by a pressure of Nona’s 

hand on her arm, for at tliis moment Mrs. Hildreth and 
Floy came slowly down the street which led to their little 
cottage. Floy’s head was held high as usual ; her face 
had its usual perfectly well-bred calm. She bowed and 
smiled as she passed the doctor’s wife and Nona standing 
in the doorway of Bronson’s store, the Bering carriage 
waiting without. 

“ What a girl that is ! ” ejaculated Mrs. Neil. “ I de- 
clare she acts as if all of us were just dirt under her feet ! ” 

But to Nona’s natural reticence in gossiping was now 
added a feeling of loyalty toward Dorothy Kent, and she 
would not discuss her affairs with Mrs. Neil, although that 
lady showed plainly her anxiety to do so. She made some 
hurried excuse and drove away, passing the Hildreths just 
as they were entering their cottage. This time, however, 
Floy did not turn to bestow one of those composed smiles 
on the friend she had just rebuked for “ deserting ” her. 
She was quivering with rage and vexation ; anxious to be 
in her own room to vent her feelings on her long-suffering 
mother ; and, forgetful of the housemaid’s presence, turned 
on Mrs. Hildreth as soon as they were indoors : 

“ Now, mother ! what has been gained ? Couldn’t you 
see that girl was just as distant as she dared to be ! And 
when jou offered to go and do anything for her ” 

“ Hush ! ” said the mother sternly. She led the angry 
girl into the little drawing-room and closed the door. “ Do 
you want to have Alice repeating your talk to the Marstons’ 
cook ? ” 

“ I don’t care,” rejoined Floy ; but she was forced to 


A SHOPPING TOUR. 


47 


listen to her mother, who declared that she intended calling 
the next day. Honor’s illness afforded her a pretext which 
would “gain a foothold before General Bering’s return”; 
to openly refuse her the house after that would be an insult. 

“ And after all,” she said slowly, “ Angus is a gentleman — 
every fibre of him.” 

Nona Marston’s day at The Glen, fraught with so much 
that was wonderful and fascinating to the overworked, 
overwearied girl, had marked an era also in Dolly’s 
life, for it was the beginning of the friendliest kind of in- 
tercourse between the two houses. The Marstons, natu- 
rally, w'ere still a trifle shy of the great house across the 
lane, and regarded Dolly and Honor as creatures if not dif- 
ferent from all other girls, at least like some one in a story- 
book or picture ; but Winifred had made two visits and 
Nona been allowed to “ h6lp,” as she had desired, in a way 
which proved her capacity in a sick room and opened a 
new channel of interest for little Honor. 

It chanced that one morning both Dolly and Mrs. Hale 
were obliged to go to a neighboring town on business for 
the General, and Honor suggested that Nona, of whom she 
had heard so much, might be asked to sit with her. Jane 
was within call and, as Honor said, she never “ wanted fuss- 
ing over ” and would promise not to talk too much. So a 
note was dispatched which put the River House girls into 
quite a little flutter of pleasurable excitement. 

“ For the whole day ? ” demanded Winifred, wfith eye 
like saucers. 

“ So she says,” said Nona, sparkling. Dolly had already 
become “she” to the girls, a token of distinction which 
if Fred sneered at, they quite understood. “ She is 
in the drawing-room window,” Winnie would announce 
from the western one of their untidy parlor, and Nona 


48 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


would crane lier neck to look across the lane and the 
garden beds to the wide curving window of The Glen 
drawing-room, where Dolly’s tall young figure might be 
faintly seen. ‘‘ She ” was the heroine of their newest un- 
written romance. Honor was a delightful, unknown, but 
expected character in the story, and therefore this invita- 
tion or request had its especial fascination. 

“ Oh, Nona ! ” Winifred exclaimed piteously, as her 
cousin was departing, “ clonH you think there would be 
any excuse for my going over this afternoon, if only for 
a moment ? ” 

Something in Winnie’s face was so pleading that Nona, 
whose whole being was thrilled with expectant pleasure, 
could not help saying, “ Well, if you can get a jar of Mrs. 
Nelson’s calf ’s-foot jelly, and do it up in one of the best nap- 
kins, bring it over about three o’clock — but, oh, Winnie, do 
make yourself tidy.” 

Nona was ushered once more into the drawing-room, and 
presently Jane appeared asking her to come upstairs. 

The large, prim but dainty bedroom into which she was 
led was, as she knew, Dolly’s ; and while lajdng aside her 
wraps she took furtive but interested glances at all it con- 
tained^ — the old-fashioned elegancies, the soft pale colors, 
the quaint pictures on the walls, all impressed Nona with 
the same sense of repose everything at The Glen suggested, 
and Dolly, coming in from Honor’s room, seemed all the 
brighter and more sparkling for these soft-hued surround- 
ings. 

Honor, lying upon her white pillows, with a blue swan’s 
down jacket over her gown, her fair hair in long braids 
and tied daintily with blue ribbons, fairly startled Nona 
by her loveliness ; and with one look at Nona’s serious, sweet 
face ; the blue eyes, darkly fringed ; the brown hair, soft, 


A SHOPPING TOVR. 


49 


waveless, but abundant and well cared for ; the slender, 
somewhat awkward, but not ungainly figure, and the hands, 
meant to be soft and pretty but rather reddened with 
housework, Honor, most fastidious of jmung mortals, took 
Nona Marston straight into her heart ! “ Don’t ask me 

she declared later to Dolly. “ I’m not specially impul- 
sive in liking people, am I ? Don’t I generally see the 
flaws first, while you see only swan’s down ? But this girl 
is a ‘ trump card in the new deal,’ as Ben says, or I’m very 
mistaken ” ; all of which was sincerely meant, by the way, 
but uttered in Honor’s most languid tones. 

“ Where will you sit. Miss Marston?” said Dolly, when 
the introductions were over and the swift pleased look on 
Honor’s face had been as quickly reflected from Nona’s. 
The room was darker in color than Dolly’s “ white bower,” 
but in some way more cheerful. Russet browns and reds 
showed in hangings and furniture ; the sofas and easy-chairs 
were in chintz of these hues ; the log fire seemed to burn 
brightly and catch and give back their own colors ; a small 
alcove at one side held book-stand, work-table, and a 
smaller lounge ; altogether it was a very luxurious but 
cosy bed and sitting-room combined, and with the Sep- 
tember sunshine streaming through a wide lace-hung win- 
dow, looked to Nona’s eyes the perfection of home-like 
comfort — only Honor, lying among her pillows, so fragile, 
so wonderfully fair, made one think of it as an invalid’s 
room ; but there was a saucy gleam in Miss Honor’s eyes, 
Dolly understood only too well ! 

“ Miss Marston,” she declared, smiling, ‘‘ I beg of you to 
be very tyrannical if Honor tries to talk too much.” 

“I don’t intend to talk,” said Honor calmly, “except to 
ask questions. Miss Marston, I’m not a bit like Dolly. It 
never occurs to her to be inquisitive, and she believes 
4 


50 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


everything every one says. I’m a heap of curiosity — I like 
to know all about everybody and everything, and that’s 
the way you must entertain me. Dolly might live next 
door to a Mormon family or a lunatic, and for all she’d find 
out they might be white mice ! ” 

Both girls laughed, and somehow Dolly felt sure this 
rather embarrassed, shy Nona Marston perfectly under- 
stood how to take Honor’s absurdities. 

“Well, keep her in order,” declared Dolly. “Even if 
you have to recite the genealogy of every Beckford family.” 

“ No,” observed Honor, “ I only care for what they are 
nowP 

Nona found it very easy to perform her duty as sick 
nurse for little Honor, and as no bad result of trusting her 
to a stranger’s care ensued, it may be presumed it was well 
done ; yet certainly the girls talked, and as Honor had 
predicted she certainly asked questions. But they were 
mainly such as drew Nona out about herself and her uncle’s 
family. 

“ Everything has been too commonplace in my life to be 
interesting. Miss Honor,” said Nona, with her serious sort of 
smile. “ I really cannot remember a single incident with 
anything very — particular — about it — and yet — I’ve always 
longed for something different. I was born in the dullest 
country place. The only excitement was when we had a 
lecture in the town hall, or some visitors came from some- 
where for a day or two, or my cousin Donald Fraser spent 
part of the summer with us. Then father died when I was 
about ten years old, and in two years mother married again 
and I went to a very stupid boarding-school, where I stayed 
five years, every vacation, too — except one. Uncle Will 
came to see me then and asked me if I would come the 
next summer and keep house for him. So when school 


A SHOPPING TOUR. 


51 


closed last June I came here. Thrilling, isn’t it?” Nona 
laughed, but with a somewhat sad note in her young voice. 

“ I think it’s interesting said Honor, very gently ; and 
leaning her cheek on her folded hands she looked at the 
young girl, sitting rather painfully upright in the easy-chair 
near the bed, with a much softer expression than her deli- 
cate face usually wore. “ I’ll tell you why — because you 
haven’t begun to live yet, and all that quiet, that dulness 
seems just like a preparation for something else.” 

‘‘ For what ? ” said Nona, with a little eagerness. 

“ Why, for ever and ever so many things. I should 
think to look at you. Miss Marston, you were the kind 
of girl who had always done her duty, and God sees to 
compensating people like that.” 

Was this Honor Kent talking? She, who, whatever she 
felt inwardly, always derided preaching, or, as she put it, 
‘‘talking piously.” 

“ My duty ! ” said Nona in some confusion, and looking 
down. “I don’t' know about that. I’ve — I’ve just done 
whatever came., you know.” 

Honor’s eyes were full of tender feeling. “ Ah ! ” she 
exclaimed very softly, “ which one of us can say more — or 
as much ? For myself, I’ve never done anything for years 
but be petted, and spoiled, and taken care of. ‘ Whatso- 
ever thy hand findeth to do^ ” quoted Honor, smiling, “ you 
have done all in doing that.” 

“ But,” exclaimed Nona, “ it goes on, ‘ do it with thy 
might Miss Honor; do you think that means we ought 
to like what our hands find to do?” 

“Of course not,” declared Honor stoutly, “unless we 
liked it just because it was a duty. Now, there is Emily 
Anderson. You know her, perhaps. Well, I’m sure if 
ever mortal creature did XhQiv duty, she does, and I’m sure 


52 


FOR HONORIS SAKE, 


heaps of things she ca.n*t like. Slie and Dolly are sworn 
friends, by the way ^ot like Dolly and myself. We’re — 
well, I can’t say wh‘;t. There’s nobody on earth to me 
like Dorothy, and I know no one could ever creep into my 
place in her heart ; btit Emily is a kind of ideal for all of 
us, and yet you’d never think she was doing anything out 
of the ordinary. I fancy, though, she does do things with 
all her might.” 

‘‘ I only saw her once,” said Nona, smiling in a puzzled 
way, “and I though her very reserved, and — well, a fine 
young lady of fashii^ ” 

“Emmie !” said B nor. “Well, perhaps I can’t think 
of her like that becai ' 3 I’ve known her so intimately. Of 
course she and her si ^er, Sybil, go out a great deal ; but, 
oh, Emmie is not a e lady’ in that sense ! Once, long 
ago, Dolly went to t' ir house and paid a visit. She had 
been very unhappy 3 »out something, and Emmie and she 
got to be the closesk^of friends. She is one of those per- 
sons whom — well, if you committed murder you could go 
and ask her advice about what to do, and she’d teach you 
how to get peace, and strength, and repentance.” 

Honor spoke slowly, gravely, and long after both girls 
recalled her words in a curious, strange episode of their 
lives. 

“You see,” Nona said in a moment, and struggling to 
be unreserved, “I’ve never liked anything I had to do, the 
way I had to do it. ‘ Now, for instance, I was perfectly en- 
chanted over coming to keep house for iTncle Will. I used 
to lie awake nights planning and thinking about it, for I 
love housekeeping better than anything but reading. Well, 
when I got here ” she stopped, and colored violently. 

“ Didn’t you like the family ? ” said Honor, in a common- 
place way. ■ 


A SHOPPING TOUR. 


53 


“ Oh, yes ; ^es, indeed,” said Nona fervently. “ Don’t 
think I meant that ! I’ve never h: an unpleasant word 
with them ; they are all only too g iiod to me, and some- 
times I am ashamed when a great f ig girl like Winifred 
comes to ask my permission for anything. But you see 
uncle said at once I was to be in full charge of everything, 
and — well, I can^t keep things as I like ! It is all so — un- 
tidy — so — well, if you ever come over,” exclaimed Nona 
desperately, but smiling, “ you will see for yourself ! and I 
dearly love order, and method, and i . tness ! ” 

“ Oh, I see — that is hard,” said H ^or. By and by she 
decided to talk to Dolly about it nd find out if they 
couldn’t help Nona in her efforts nth the kindly, un- 
methodical household. 

“ I feel so cross and disheartenec .bout it sometimes,” 
Nona went on, rubbing the back of e of her hands with 
the other in an anxious way, “ and . seems so hopeless ! 
You never find a way to begin at thebjginning, as it were ; 
Winnie, I am afraid, is right when she says they’d have to 
be all born over again and tiy another way from the start.” 

The girls laughed together ; Jane gliding in with 
Honor’s medicine, and a rather warning look, silenced 
them for a time. Nona sat and gazed into the fire, lighted 
lest the air be too chill for Honor, and wondered how 
it was this dainty, luxuriously cared-for girl had found out 
any of the secrets of patience and doing good ; and if she 
had but known it. Honor was wondering how Nona, a per- 
fect stranger,— and so shy, reserved a girl, — had struck a 
note, a chord in her inner being which responded quickly ; 
which awakened that deeper, softer self few people ever 
guessed belonged to Honor’s nature. But, in fact, with ill 
health had come a desire to make light of werything. No 
one — unless it might be Dolly — ever gu - d the bitter, 


54 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


cruel, disappointment in life which delicacy — indeed, pro- 
nounced invalidism — was to little Honor. No one guessed, 
because she had seemed to wrap it up in this veil of 
banter, fun, sarcasm, and a pretended cynicism about 
everything. To the people about her she had at times 
seemed curiously indifferent, even when there was danger 
in her suffering, and the fashion of treating everything in 
a quiet spirit of sarcastic humor, common to her from child- 
hood, had grown with her years, fostered by her dread of 
showing what so often lay like anguish on her heart. It 
had hardened the girl, no doubt ; veiled even from her own 
eyes the heights her soul, through suffering, might reach ; 
and when such thouglits came to her — when dreams of 
patience for His sake who sent the cross — of the “ rest ” 
prepared for those who fight their fight bravely to the end, 
would stir her soul and give it passing courage. Honor, 
with a dread of yielding to what she called “ fate,” would 
thrust them wearily aside. Slie would be well and strong 
again ! She would not accept this life of half living, 
and the little gay spirit of fun would reappear ; she 
would seem to cling more lovingly to those around 
her, and her secret misery be more securely hidden than 
before. 

Dorothy, who loved her with all the depth and tender- 
ness of her loyal heart, whose eyes, mirror of a soul truth- 
ful as the day, read more than little Honor ever dreamed of 
betraying ; but even Dolly dared not show what she was 
reading save in redoubled tenderness, some new fond act or 
thoughtfulness for Honor’s comfort or pleasure, and as 
there were weeks and even months when the young girl 
seemed comparatively well, the opportunities for drawing 
Honor’s inner confidence from her were not frequent — cer- 
tainly never of Honor’s own making — and Dorothy’s innate 


A SHOPPING TOUR. 


55 


fear of wounding those she loved made it hard for her to 
force them on with open speech. 

The announcement that luncheon was ready roused both 
girls from the reverie into which they had fallen, and if 
Nona followed the servant a trifle shyly down to the 
dining-room, yet it was with a keen sense of enjoyment 
in all that was passing. There was not a touch of the 
“pagan ” in Nona’s nature, although her artistic sense was 
by no means lacking ; yet no girl, especially one escaping 
from sordid cares, but would enjoy a luncheon daintily 
served, in a beautiful room, where every object which met 
the eye or pleased the senses was harmoniously ordered. 
Simms, with his solemn, ceremonious manner, it is true, 
rather overawed her ; yet she liked it — liked having a 
silver dish, on which delicately broiled cutlets reposed, 
offered to her — or being asked whether she preferred ma- 
yonnaise or French dressing for her salad. Then the Bavar- 
ian cream, peaches and almonds, the coffee in porcelain, 
Nona almost feared to handle. It was delightful ! A 
wild longing to have further experiences of the kind came 
across Nona’s simple heart, making her smile, half at her 
own folly, half at the hope that, perhaps, some time Dolly 
might even invite her to stay all night ! How enchanting 
it would be to go to bed and wake up in one of those beau- 
tiful bedrooms, with their perfect appointments, their 
comforts, luxuries — nay, above all things, their good order ! 
Oh, how different from the scrambling around at the River 
House — the “ terrible ” breakfast-table, the unappetizing 
meals ! Could she, wondered Nona, make things better if 
thenceforth she set herself to “do with all her might,” and, 
as a happy thought, she decided that she would open her 
mind on tlie subject to Dorothy, who looked so “ capable,” 
and ask her advice. 


56 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


Jane met Nona as she was leaving the dining-room, to 
say that Miss Honor meant to try and sleep for an hour — 
perhaps Miss Marston would like to read a little while in 
the drawing-room. So presently Nona, with a new maga- 
zine, was ensconced in the pleasant curving window, at 
which she and Winnie had gazed so often during the past 
few days, looking for a glimpse of their heroine ! How 
strange it seemed to find herself here a guest, treated with 
all the familiarity of an old friend ! Nona, who was always 
ready to give her whole attention to a book, found it rather 
hard to fix a moment of it upon th^ page opened before her 
now, so much that was novel and interesting in other ways 
had she to think of — so many girlish fancies to indulge. 
There was pleasui*e enough in looking about the beautiful 
room itself, and Nona moved around from one pretty or 
interesting object to another, now and again, with some 
embarrassment, catching sight of her own figure in a 
mirror, realizing how shabby and ill-fitting her own “best” 
frock looked here — the costume she had worked so hard to 
finish last month, when she and Winifred were going to a 
tennis party at the Neils’s. It was a brown sateen, with a 
white sprig on it, and some trimming of brown velvet, and 
the girls had thought it quite fine until they were among 
Mrs. Neil’s showier guests. But until winter came, as they 
well knew, it must do duty as “ best,” and Nona had not 
thought of bemoaning it, although the shoulders puckered 
a little and the collar did not “ set.” She had turned away 
from a rather dispiriting survey of it in an oblong mirror 
framed in Venice, and hung above a low book-shelf, when 
sounds of a quick, firm step on the gravel brought her 
quickly to the window, lest it be Winifred come so early, 
and likely to disturb Honor in her sleep. But it was by no 
means Winifred. Coming, with an easy, quick step to- 


A SHOPPING TOUR. 


57 


ward the house was a tall young man, admirably well 
dressed for travelling, and holding in one hand a small grip- 
sack, in the other a light cane. Whether, according to a 
girl’s estimate or not, he was handsome, Nona did not, 
could not ask, for she pronounced him the “grandest” 
looking person she had ever seen ! The face, in the full 
sunlight, was clear, rather dark in tone ; the eyes sombre, 
but fine and keen in their glance. The well-cut mouth was 
scarcely shaded by a dark mustache ; the chin was resolute. 
Something of the careless ease of a man of the world, some- 
thing a trifle of the indifference of such, mingled with the 
look which might, so thought Nona, belong to a poet — an 
artist, perhaps — or even, she decided, girlishly, a hero of 
romance ; but there was no time for further speculation, or 
even to escape herself, before she heard Simms admitting 
the visitor. 

A clear, well-modulated voice was inquiring for the 
ladies ; then came a special inquiry for Miss Honor — some- 
thing else passed ; Nona heard the visitor saying, “ Ha ! 
very well ; I will wait in the drawing-room. You can take 
my bag. No, thanks, Simms, I’ve had a bite down at the 
station. I’ll wait for dinner.” 

And the visitor pushed aside the portidre, coming into the 
drawing-room, slowly drawing off his gloves, but altogether 
so with the air of one of the family that Nona hardly knew 
who he could be. 

But the young man settled the question with a very un- 
embarrassed manner. 

“ I must introduce myself. Miss* Marston,” he said pleas- 
antly. “ I came up to see how Miss Kent — Honor — was 
progressing. I am your cousin Donald Frazer’s friend, 
Alfred Thorndyke.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


“ ADDY.” 

The town to wiiich Mrs. Hale and Dolly had driven that 
morning was about eight or ten miles distant from Beck- 
ford, and into a country where, with much that was closeh’’ 
verdant, blooming, and rural as any inland spot, the salt air 
of the sea was on every breeze and the sound of the waves 
to be heard. The General’s business was with a builder 
whom he especially wished Dolly to see, and who gave her 
every attention, of course, amusing the girl as she realized 
how completely every circumstance and individual in her 
new life was deepening the sense of what Mrs. Hildreth 
had called her “importance” as the General’s adopted 
daughter. The transaction concluded, they clattered down 
a rather rough, hilly village street to an old-fashioned look- 
ing hotel or inn, where they had a cold lunch, and then 
Mrs. Hale asked Dolly whether she would mind waiting for 
her while she paid a call upon an old lady friend of hers 
whom she had not seen for years. Dolly was, of course, 
perfectly content to remain ; and while Mrs. Hale drove 
away she established herself in the hotel parlor, the girl 
wdio had waited upon them at table obligingly bringing 
her the most recent daily paper and a tattered fashion book 
to relieve her solitude. 

Dorothy waited until the door closed upon this young 
person, who evidently was fain to linger for a confidential 
talk ; then, laying the light literature on a table, amused 
herself by walking about the room and examining what it 


ADD Yr 


59 


contained. The house had been an old-fashioned farm- 
house, no doubt, and preserved much of its original charac- 
ter. The room in which Dolly found herself ran the whole 
length of the irregular brick dwelling — was low-studded, 
wainscoted, and striped twice with heavy beams. The 
furniture, of horse-hair, was the usual pattern ; the tables 
were covered with red cotton clothes ; the black mantle 
shelves were adorned with china ornaments, variegated in 
color and design. Tributes to the memory of the dead, 
in the way of pictures representing weeping willows and 
imposing monumental urns, hung each side of a large 
colored chromo, which riveted Dolly’s attention and nearly 
sent her into hysterical laughter. It represented the Del- 
uge and the Ark ; the latter, a large, well-shingled, frame 
building, with a comfortable mansard roof, bright green 
painted blinds, and a comfortable plank up which the ani- 
mals were decorously proceeding ; Noah, in a long coat 
and broad-trimmed hat, with his virtuous family, receiving 
them at the entrance with the air of ticket agents, thought 
Dolly, who reversed the order of proceedings at a circus 
or menagerie — a human audience, perhaps, being on ex- 
hibition ! The whole thing was highly colored, glazed, 
and framed in brilliant gilt. After a study of this, and, 
for the sake of fun with Honor, making a little sketch of it 
in her note book, Dolly sauntered over to see what the one 
square back window of the sitting-room might reveal. It 
looked out upon quite a busy stable-yard, beyond which 
were sheds for several wagons. Two or three idlers were 
about, talking to the stable-men, and while Dolly watched 
them mechanically, a light spring wagon, double-seated, 
and driven by a shrewd-faced old man, clattered into the 
yard. In the back seat were two women, well, but quietly 
dressed, and as the driver sprang down from his seat with 


60 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


the agility of a young man, Dolly wondered vaguely where or 
when she had seen him before. Surely, that sharp, reddish- 
brown face under the shabby slouch hat was familiar to 
her-^the little ferret eyes with their reddened lids, the 
thin, clean-shaven lips. A confused memory of the days 
when she was so free from all thought of her present con- 
sequence and wealth rushed over Dolly’s mind, cr3’stalizing 
suddenly as she recognized in the little old man her 
father’s hard-fisted, cruel creditor of old — Peter Baker ! 

It was over three years since Dolly had seen him. As- 
suredly, by the General’s bounty, all the old care had van- 
ished — even the last daj^^s of her dear father made peaceful 
and serene ; yet as she looked at the old man, the same 
sickening sense of horror — dread of she knew not what — 
which had once oppressed her, came over the girl, and she 
sank into a chair in the window, but without moving her 
eyes from the group in the stable-yard. The women had 
alighted ; they were coming toward the house. Dolly 
could only distinguish that one was rather young, the other 
middle-aged. Mr. Baker, after leaving his horses in an 
hostler’s care, turned in another direction, while Dolljq 
thankful he was not with them, saw the sitting-room door 
at the upper end of the room opened by the waitress, who 
ushered the guests in, chattering pleasantly. 

“ Fine day, ain’t it ? Going to have any dinner ? ” she 
was saying. “ We’ve not much left ; it’s rather late, you 
see.” 

“ We’ve had dinner — thank you,” said the older woman, 
rather stiffly. She offered no encouragement for further 
conversation, and in a moment, humming a little tune, the 
girl departed, closing the door with a snap after her. 
Dolly, for some reason — probably because of Mr. Baker — 
felt herself curiously interested, or fascinated, by the move- 


‘‘ADDY. 


61 


ments of these women, wlio evidently had taken no notice 
of lier. When the waitress had departed, the older one 
removed her veil, folded it carefully, and turned to her 
companion, who was standing listlessly in the window. 

‘‘You’d better sit down, Addy,” she said, in a quiet, self- 
restrained sort of voice ; “ there’ll be half an hour, he said, 
to wait.” 

“ I’m not tired, mother,” said the girl, in a very cleai-, 
sweet voice — more like a child’s than a woman’s ; but she 
moved over to the horse-hair sofa and sat down with the 
air of a person to whom one thing was as pleasant as 
another. She took off her veil and gave the wavy, light 
brown locks on her brow an upward push, while Dolly 
looked long and wonderingly, and with an odd sense of 
familiarity, at the face turned so that she saw it in full. 
The face of a woman grown, but curiously like a child’s ; 
not precisely pretty, yet with a certain charm which made 
it attractive. The eyes were large, soft, very dark brown, 
and shaded with blackest lashes, the delicately pencilled, 
slightly arched brows being equally dark ; and to Dolly, 
reminding her of those she had seen a score of times in 
any part of Southern Italy, among the peasant or upper 
class alike. But with the eyes the Italian look ended. 
The rest of the face was only commonplace in type ; a 
certain delicacy of outline redeeming it from being ordi- 
nary, while the lack of animation, Dolly now saw, was what 
gave it that peculiarly infantile look. The older woman 
was a very fair specimen of her class ; well enough in fea- 
ture, sparely built, and with nothing especially noticeable 
in her manner or appearance be^^ond a sort of restlessness 
when she heard a footstep in the corridor or saw a passer- 
by. As for the girl, she sat perfectly still and evidently 
content, resting one cheek on her hand, her elbow on the 


62 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


arm of the sofa, while the soft, dark eyes scarcely moved 
from their gentle gaze toward the window. 

Dolly, in her distant corner of the long room, watched 
these strangers with a curious interest inexplicable to her- 
self. The sound of carriage-wheels startled her. Mrs. 
Hale was returning and Dolly rose, moving forward slowly. 
The mother of the dark-eyed, quiet girl on the sofa turned 
as she did so and looked at Dolly suddenly. She, too, 
rose — and stared with a quick change of color in her thin 
cheek ; it almost seemed as if she was about to speak, and 
indeed I think such had been her first impulse, for with a 
queer little kind of gasp she sat down again, her eyes still 
fixed upon Dolly’s face. 

Dolly changed color under the woman’s scrutiny. 

“ I beg your pardon,” she said gently. “ Did you wish 
to speak to me ? ” 

“ I — no — I — ” the woman smiled faintly, faltering over 
her words, “ I thought I knew you, for a moment.” 

There was certainly nothing in this chance encoimter 
with a pair of strangers to puzzle and perplex Dolly, and 
she was vexed with herself that on her homeward drive it 
should remain a confusing sort of incident in her mind. 
Enthusiastic, fond of the poetic side of everything Dorothy 
unquestionably was, but fanciful never ; and, as they neared 
home in the soft stillness of the afternoon, she took herself 
severely to task for having indulged in any such nonsensical 
feeling about two commonplace country-people, probably 
bent only on a half-day’s shopping in the Becksport shops. 

A feeling of delicious tranquillity, at the same time of 
girlish satisfaction in her little “ kingdom,” came over the 
girl, as the carriage rolled in the iron gateway with its 
pretty shrubberies and vista of well-kept drive and gar- 
dens. This was her home. The General had plainly told 


‘‘ADDT. 


63 


her he wislied her from the first to consider it her very own, 
and the business transaction of tlie morning had given 
emphasis to the new sense of dignity and responsibility. 
How pretty tlie long, irregular house, with its odd projec- 
tions, deep windows, vines, and setting of flower-beds lookefi, 
thought Dolly, and when Simms opened the door and told 
her that a visitor was waiting for her, she only paused to ask 
Mrs. Hale to find out at once how Honor was, and in a pre- 
occupied fashion turned toward the drawing-room, which 
even in the half-light looked luxurious, homelike, and in- 
viting. 

A figure standing in the western window turned quickly. 
A face Dolly had not seen in two years was revealed, and, 
with a little joyful cry of welcome and surprise, she 
hurried forward, holding out both her hands. 

“ So you have condescended at last ! ” she exclaimed. 
“ I began to believe, Alfred — Mr. Thorndyke — that you 
had forgotten our existence.” 

The young man smiled down upon the girl with a look 
half-quizzical, half -affectionate. 

“ Did you really think so, Dolly ? Come, that is hardly 
fair.” 

“ We were two days in New York,” she said, a trifle 
nervously, and moving toward a low chair seated herself, 
while Alfred Thorndyke took up his favorite attitude on 
the hearthrug and looked down at her with the same odd, 
rather aggravating expression back of his eye-glasses and 
lurking about the corners of his mouth. 

‘‘ But I was out of town,” he said very quietly. “ Well — ” 
he paused, but did not remove his eyes. Dolly occupied 
herself for a moment loosening the scarf about her neck, 
throwing back the little dark-brown jacket with its crimson 
lininof which she wore. 

O 


64 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


“ I want to see if this is Dolly Kent,” he said, smiling. 

The girl’s face colored ; something half-sad, half-indig- 
nant crossed her mind as she answered quickly — tlie little 
upward movement of her chin familiar to those who knew 
her betraying the feelings. 

‘‘I understand ! You want to see if I am worthy of re- 
membrance! Shall I ring for lights — or is there enough 
daylight yet to see if your old friend has changed so that' 
you do not know her ? ” 

There was a sound almost like a sob in the girl’s voice, 
for their old camaraderie., in days when such a position as 
the one in which he found her now had not been dreamed 
of, made her quick to know that beneath the tone of banter 
he used was a touch of genuine meaning. 

‘‘ Nonsense ! ” he spoke a little sharply. “ But honestly, 
Dolly — shall I say Miss Kent ? The wheel of fortune goes 
around so wildly. I am wondering whether a struggling 
young lawyer like myself dare present himself as an old 
camaradeN 

“ Alfred,” exclaimed the girl, with a swift change of tone, 
“you know better. This is all some of your satire. Do 
you suppose I am at heart different from the poor forlorn 
little Dolly, who ” 

He laughed. 

“Who always snubbed me and made me feel I was not 
worthy of her consideration unless on my best behavior. 
All, Dolly — those were pleasant days, after all. .How long 
ago they seem — I had ” 

He checked himself suddenly ; startled at the words 
involuntarily on his very lips, for Alfred Thorndyke, in 
spite of his scrutiny of the girl before him to discover any 
signs of disloyalty, had been about to say, “ I had almost 
forgotten themN He bit his lip, vexed at the revelation 


^'ADDT. 


65 


made to himself. Three years ago, during that first mem- 
orable visit of Dolly’s to New York, they had, as he sug- 
gested, been hons camaracles, friends of the most loyal, 
helpful sort. Dorothy, with her clear, honest nature, her 
utter freedom from affectation, her faith in all that was 
good and true, her poetic fancies, had suggested ideals 
which he had never wholly lost, had encouraged sentiments 
which, in a much harder fight with the world than he had 
anticipated, he had always contrived to cherish. Yet the 
romantic fervor of their boy and girl comradeship, had of 
necessity — force of circumstances, rather — died away, and 
Thorndyke, who was a much older man than his years, was 
startled to find the girl looking up at him with the clearest 
pair of eyes he had ever seen was so little changed in look, 
voice and gesture from the Dorothy he had put on a cer- 
tain pedestal in his imagination, that the span of time since 
they had said good-by seemed as nothing. True, the 
Dolly of those days had been scarcely more than a child, 
and this was a tall, self-composed young lady, bloom- 
ing as ever, but whose radiant charm had of a woman’s 
dignity in it ; yet it was the promise of the child fulfilled. 
Events in her life, even time, which had developed her so 
far, had robbed her of nothing which had made her girl- 
hood so fair, so innocent, so sweet. The j^oung man had 
come there that day, gladly enough, no doubt, yet with 
a good-humored, half-smiling, half-condescending compo- 
sure. He had seen a great deal of life in these two years ; 
had known scores of girls, and come to believe the differ- 
ence between seventeen and twenty enough to “ spoil ” any 
of the ‘‘ buds ” whom he had danced with at their first 
ball, and seen with their freshness decidedly impaired two 
seasons later. He forgot that Dorothy Kent was not, per- 
haps could never be, a ball-room exotic ; he had said only 
5 


66 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


to himself, “ Of course she has forgotten all that nonsense.” 
And now, with a feeling of annoyance and disgust at him- 
self, he realized that to have drifted away from his old, 
keen interest in Dorothy Kent, had been the idlest of mis- 
takes. 


CPIAPTER IX. 


CAN HARDLY DEFINE IT.” 

Dorothy meanwhile, during this brief silence, had been 
reading more in Alfred’s composed lips and eyes than he 
could have guessed. Far more than he would have wished 
her to see. While he was marveling at his own stupidity, 
Dolly knew that whatever “ change ” existed was not with 
herself, and instinctively a door upon the recesses of confi- 
dence, which in their boy and girl days used to be so widely 
opened, was closed. Something in the fabric of her ideal 
seemed to melt away, but there was no lack of cordiality or 
the gleam of mischief in the way she said : 

‘‘ Well, is the microscope of your mind and eye satis- 
fied ? Am I Dolly Kent — or a stranger?” 

lie should not detect, thought the girl proudly, that his 
look had betrayed him. 

“ It is that which puzzles me,” said Thorndyke, with an 
odd laugh. He folded his arms, leaning back against the 
mantel and looked at her still more critically. “I expected 
a stranger and, except that you looked more dignified, per- 
Iiaps, — more finished^ I suppose it is, — you might be the 
girl who walked down Fifth Avenue for the first time that 
November morning long ago, when we bought chrysan- 
themums for five cents.” 

It was an old joke, belonging to more careless, unsophis- 
ticated days, and they both laughed. But Dolly felt a 
queer pang at her heart, as she rose and said brightly : 

“ We must have a long talk about all those old days this 
67 


G8 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


evening. There is so much I want to hear just from your- 
self. Now you will excuse me while I see Honor for a 
moment.” 

“ Stay,” he said quickly, “ don’t think me ” 

“ Disapj)ointed ? ” Dolly arched her brows provokingly. 
“ Why should I ? I assure you I am altogether too self- 
satisfied for that ! But, to be earnest, has Simms attended 
to you ? I must not forget you are my guest, in remem- 
bering old times ? ” 

A look exquisitely sweet and happy stole into the girl’s 
face, driving away the half cynical expression which was so 
entirely unlike her truer self that it had irritated Alfred, 
knowing what had provoked it. 

‘‘ Yes, indeed,” he answered, “ I told him that if I were in- 
vited, I had orders from the General to stay all night and 
report to him to-morrow morning, and my small bag is in 
a great desert of a room which looks capable of being the 
haunted chamber, if such could exist in a house of the 
kind ! By the way, I found a very interesting girl here — 
a cousin of my chum Fraser’s.” 

“ Ah,” exclaimed Dolly, kindling at once with pleasure 
in the thought of a new bond with Nona Marston, whom 
she liked so well, “ that is delightful.” 

She sketclied rapidly what she knew and surmised of the 
Marstons ; pointed out the River House, with its many 
wijidows and country garden, and added finally : 

‘‘ Alfred, you must help me in some way to do some- 
thing to brighten Nona’s life. She is a fine girl, I am sure, 
and I want to hear all about this Admirable Crichton of 
hers, Donald Fraser.” 

Alfred laughed. 

‘‘ I’m afraid you would scarcely apply that title to old 
Donald, if you knew him ! ” he exclaimed. “ Not but that 


“/ CAN IIABDLT DEFINE IT. 


69 


he is a glorious fellow — but he is by no means a Crichton ! 
The best, grandest, noblest, most unconventional creature ! 
— but he can paint ! Artist to the tips of his great honest 
fingers.” 

“Better and better,” said Dolly. “I long for a good 
chat with you ! We must contrive it after dinner.” 

She looked thoughtful. 

“ So the new duties are gathering,” he said, smiling. 
“ You are really mistress of all you survey ? ” 

She looked up quickly, with a gay little laugh. 

“ No — not of the faith you once had in me ! There — I 
must not tease you ! You, I am sure, look years and years 
older and very different.” 

“ How ? ” He was determined to detain her for the 
answer, and Dolly lingered. 

“ How ? ” she repeated in her frank, clear voice. “ I can 
hardly say — hardly define it just yet. It is not so much 
that you look a — great deal older — why Alfred, you might 
be thirty — but you don’t seem so — happy. There used to 
be something in your face — even when you were as sedate 
as possible — which was as though you felt glad about 
things, and now ” 

She hesitated, and with a sigh the young man continued 
for her : 

“ And now — well, Dolly, my dear, I can’t say ‘ things,’ 
as you call them, have been as glad as I expected them to 
be when we used to talk over the future. However, all 
this will keep for another time.” 

“ I want to hear about it,” she said quickly. “ At least, 
Alfred, you will find no change in my sympathy.” 

She walked away, mounting the stairs slowly to her own 
room, feeling like some one who has been suddenly awakened 
from a dream. She had been absolutely sincere in saying 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


that a change impressed her in the old friend who had been 
so “good” to her during that wretched, trying winter in 
New York ; but even to herself she could not define it. 
There was a touch of cynicism in the eyes she had often 
seen sombre, but never dissatisfied ; he looked more a 
man of the world than she had expected. That the mere 
boyishness should be gone was, of course, not surprising ; 
but there was something else missing which she knew she 
had hoped to find. Dolly lingered a moment in her win- 
dow before joining Honor. She felt some way jarred, and 
wanted to compose her mind — to bring herself back to the 
light-hearted mood of an hour ago. Her fingers strayed 
almost unconsciously to the little trinket worn always on 
her watch-chain — the heartsease which Alfred had given 
her, with such friendly sentiment, “ for remembrance ” long 
ago. 

It was a piece of absurdity, no doubt, she told herself, 
detach it from the little chain and lock it away now 
iii a case on her table. But she would infinitely prefer 
that he should not see her wearing it. And Dolly, with a 
laugh at her own folly, felt very sure she had locked away 
all her “ vapors ” at the same time, and could smile as 
brightly as ev ^-'‘on little Honor when she next went into 
her cousin’s roo i. 


CHAPTER X. 


HONOR REFUSES TO BE AN INVALID. 

Nona had been looking forward to, and at the same time 
half dreading Dolly’s return, for, of course, when “ she ” 
returned, there could be no “ need ” of her remaining, and 
this delightful, fascinating day would have to be over. 
She and Honor had seemed to make a leap into something, 
like actual friendship. Boundary lines are easily crossed 
when young people, or older ones, for that matter, strike 
fire with the first spark, and find their pet fancies and ideas 
are in sympathy. Honor had been impelled along to re- 
veal a great deal of herself by the interest Nona ’ ad 
awakened, and before Dolly returned the lonely li tie 
“ housekeeper ” at the River House had given Honor 
enough of her confidence to make the whole state of affairs 
very clear to the latter’s shrewd but sympathetic mind. 
Honor would never be as indiscriminate, as boundless, in 
her ideas about doing for others, or as^.;?ympathetic with 
the world at large, as was Dolly, who Sj;iemed to think all 
humanity a blessing, but she was neither selfish nor incon- 
siderate about anything, and her generosity, when awak- 
ened, was on a very liberal plane. It was not her fault 
but her nature, that she really cared for few people, and 
was generally more amused than interested by them. 
People’s little hypocrisies, which Dolly .ever dreamed of, 
were as transparent as gauze to her, but while discovery 
of them shocked and wounded Dolly, Honor would laugh- 
ingly declare them to be “ the best fun going and to pre- 

n 


72 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


tend ignorance — to assume credulity in the face of anything 
of the kind — amused her heartil^^, and without, to do her 
justice, provoking the least malice in return. True, she 
could give her little pin-pricks into every artificial expla- 
nation she detected — pin-pricks where Dolly’s broadsword 
of frankness would have collapsed the whole affair ruth- 
lessly — but she never was unkind, never vindictive. That 
nothing in any fashion insincere and doubtful occurred to 
her about Nona Marston, her confidential talk revealed, 
even to herself, for Honor was well aware of her own lack 
of faith in many people ; and so Dolly came in, to find the 
two friends on the best of terms ; a look into the room it- 
self, the way books and portfolios had been moved about, a 
work-basket brought out, even, showing that Nona had 
been made to feel thoroughly at home. Dolly was relieved, 
for her one dread had been lest Honor take one of her 
“kinks” and object to Nona Marston. The conversation 
broke off suddenly, for, on sight of Dolly, Honor ex- 
claimed : 

“Oh, Dolly, am I not to be up before Alfred goes? I 
want so much to see him, and I feel so well.” 

Her cheeks were pink, her eyes dangerously brilliant. 

“Let us see how well you behave while we are at din- 
ner,” smiled Dolly, half afraid to admit that Dr. Gore had 
said she might be carried down to the sofa that evening if 
she felt better, and as Honor drew a sigh of deep satisfac- 
tion Dolly continued, “Perhaps Miss Marston will stay and 
help me keep you in order. Can you ? ” 

Could she ! Nona’s sparkling eyes revealed her deep 
gratitude for the suggestion, and Dolly hastened to plan 
for it, sending Jane over to the River House and making 
Nona feel peculiarly at home and comfortable by sajdng 
that it would be such a relief to her to feel, if she had to at- 


HONOR REFUSES TO BE AN INVALID. 


73 


tend to any of the General’s commissions with Alfred, that 
Honor would not be dull. 

“Isn’t she a darling,” sighed Honor, when Dolly had 
gone away for a word with Mrs. Hale about Honor’s com- 
ing down and to see that Alfred’s room was in comfortable 
order. “Oh, dear ! I’d like to be like Dorothy and Emily, 
only then I’d be too lovely.” 

“You are y ourself said Nona, smiling. 

“Thank you.” Honor looked pleased. “Yes,” she said 
dubiously, “but that’s the bother of it ; I’m too much like 
myself, if you know what I mean.” 

She laid still a moment with her cheek on her hand ; her 
eyes closed. Nona thought she.detected a quivering of the 
muscles about the delicate, exquisite lips and obstinate lit- 
tle chin. Presently Honor’s eyelids opened, and she looked 
from under her long lashes with a mischievous smile at 
Nona. 

“ I have a thin little skeleton in my closet,” she remarked 
soberly, “and once in a while he prances up and down and 
I have hard work to shut him up again. Just that minute 
I thought I heard the rattle of his old bones ! ” 

Meanwhile Dolly, still a trifle preoccupied, had tapped at 
Mrs. Hale’s door and entered into the question of Honor’s 
being carried downstairs with various considerations. It 
was decided that while they were at dinner would be the 
best time, and Dolly could be excused while she settled her 
cousin on the wide, deep lounge, quite as comfortable as 
her bed. 

The “desert” Alfred had called hi& room, was a vast 
apartment sure enough, and furnished, if richly in one 
sense, with a Spartanlike simplicity wdiich made the young 
mistress of the house smile as she gazed about it, and de- 
cided that it should be made to “ bloom like the rose ” as soon 


74 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


as she could consult her guardian on the subject of various 
changes in the house. Everything was coldly orderly, 
severe, and depressing, and it resulted in Dolly’s sending 
for Mrs. Moper’s assistant, Sarah Bowcher, and removing 
Alfred’s bag to a sunny, cosy little room downstairs, 
where, as she reflected, he would feel his first welcome to 
the Glen not so dispiriting. 

It wanted half an hour before dinner and she looked in 
at the drawing-room, to find the young man seated in fhe 
chair she had vacated, attitude, expression, all indicating 
he was in a brown study. 

He moved quickly as Dolly entered and tossed the hair 
back from his brow, standing up and evidently flinging 
away his abstraction. 

“ Well — fair chatelaine ! ” he said, smiling. “ You must 
not think it necessary to entertain me. I shall certainly 
capture you for half an hour after dinner, but I know you 
have a great deal on your mind.” 

“You are part of it,” smiled Dolly, as she rested her 
arms on the back of a tall easy-chair and looked at him 
with a sense of generous indulgence of his humor, what- 
ever it chose to be. “ I have taken your oasis of a bag 
out of that terrible room, and put it where you’ll find sun- 
shine to-morrow. Isn’t it strange to think I am receiv- 
ing you as a guest — here ! ” 

“More than strange”; he looked rather grave. “ It was 
philosophizing over things of the kind that put me in the 
clouds you blew away just now.” 

Dolly sighed. 

“ Well — I hope I shall be able to make you all feel at 
home here. Next week Emily promises to come for a 
week, with the General. Mrs. Hale says people will begin 
to call on us, although we will not be here after November.” 


HONOR REFUSES TO BE AN INVALID. 


75 


“I see. And then ?” 

Dolly blushed a little, and did not look fully at him as 
she spoke. 

‘‘ The General you know is determined on launching me 
into the giddy world.” 

She laughed. 

‘‘ I’m glad to know it ; of course I expected it,” he said 
quickly. But before then I’ll make sure of seeing you as 
often as I can, for once in that maelstrom — good-by to 
much that is sociable and quiet. By the way, if you go 
down to New York, as the General desires you to do, for a 
day or two, you must come and have tea with my aunt 
and Emmie and Sybil in our bachelor quarters. I assure 
you that last winter Fraser and I were all the rage.” 

‘‘ Delightful,” said Dolly, with absent eyes. “ Now, if 
you will tell Simms when he comes in to look after you, 
I will send Nona back to amuse you until dinner. You 
must know that Honor insists on coming down to-night, 
but slie must keep very quiet.” 

Thorndyke’s keen, dark face lighted witli pleasure. 

‘‘That is good news. I was afraid she would not be vis- 
ible before I left in the morning.” 

Dolly had never known even the fastidious Honor so 
hard to please in the matter of her toilette as when, after 
the others had gone down to dinner, she remained upstairs 
with Jane to assist her cousin’s preparations. 

Honor protested against anything which would make her 
look like an invalid. 

“ I am really only weak,” she declared ; “ and I do 
think it so silly for people who just have a cold to insist 
on dressing like consumptives dying to slow music. No, 
Dollikins, please not that tea gown. I don’t want to 
look like the good girl in a story-book, who is in a decline. 


76 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


I declare if this goes on I’ll be tempted to send for Mr. 
Marks, that ‘ beautifier’ who does up people’s faces.” 

But when the dressing was over, and Jane and Dolly be- 
tween them had established little Honor on the great 
lounge drawn near to the fire lighted an hour ago in 
the large square hall, which, as we have said, had all the air 
and cosiness of a room, she was found to be well content to lie 
still for a little time in silence. The question of costume 
had been given into her own hands, and very sweet she 
looked in a soft white nun’s veiling, a “real dress^^'* as she 
said; but it only seemed to Dolly to emphasize the delicacy 
of her fair young face on the dark plush sofa pillow, where 
her hair was like a glory and her hands looked wonderfull}^ 
transparent and weighted by the three rings she was so fond 
of wearing — the gold twisted band which had been her 
mother’s, the half-loop of sapphires Dolly bought her in 
Paris, and the closely studded pearl gipsy ring, which she 
called her “secret,” because she had “given it to herself” 
aiid made a vow about it ! Accustomed to so many ca- 
prices and fancies of Honor’s, no one had thought anything 
of this idea of the girl’s, yet it had for her a deep signifi- 
cance, and as she lay there in the firelight, the voices and 
laughter reaching her through the portieres of the dining- 
room, Honor twisted it slowly around and around her third 
finger, thinking of all that it implied ; as the color ebbed 
into her face with her reflections, she sighed heavily and 
murmured: “ I must — I must try any way to be true to it” ; 
and feeling weaker than she had allowed any one to see or 
know, the girl let her eyelids droop, lying absolutely still 
for the next half hour. 


CHAPTER XL 

THORNDYKE’s “ PHILOSOPHY.” ^ 

Two people at the cosy dinner-table found the position 
an amusing and interesting one. Dorothy could scarcely 
realize that she was mistress of the house, at the head of 
the table entertaining her guests ; and Thorndyke felt as if 
they must be rehearsing something in private theatricals. 
Even while he talked across the table to Nona, or answered 
some remark of Mrs. Hale’s, his eyes strayed occasionally 
to the sweet girlish figure of his hostess, and memories of 
the old days he had “ almost forgotten ” crowded back. 
He exulted within himself that he had always believed 
there was the right “ stuff” in the Squire’s daughter from 
the first time they met. Had he not been prompt to rec- 
ognize what was innate, inborn, inbred, even though at 
the time she was tlie guest of people whose vulgarit}^ lie 
despised ? Yet something now, even as then, seemed to 
set her away from him, as it were — there was at times the 
same challenge in that frank searching look of hers, the 
same sense of a final opinion in reserve, which had always 
given their intercourse a piquancy and made her confi- 
dences valuable. Nothing was or could be “ lip-service ” 
witli Dolly. Generous, abundant as was her nature, she 
could not be hoodwinked where opinions of right and 
wrong were involved, and Alfred recalled the times when 
she had left him baffled or defeated, and he was well aware 
his own arguments in favor of some pet idea or inclination 

77 


78 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


had seemed to her the flimsiest sort of excuses for doing as 
he liked. While he was talking to Nona, he had been fur- 
tively conscious of Dorothy’s soft, abstracted manner. She, 
too, no doubt, was going back to those boy and girl days, 
only three years ago ; yet they marked the difference be- 
tween seventeen and twenty with her, and had launched 
him into, the world and a “professional career,” young as 
he was. 

Dorothy, if a trifle pale, was looking very fair and sweet, 
the young man thought. She had not made any “ toilette” 
for the little dinner, on account of Nona’s simple dress, but 
wore a soft black grenadine, with only a dull gold bar at 
the neck for ornament ; but as he had said — there was a 
certain finish about her which made her different from the 
Dolly Kent who had made friends with him at a Mrs. 
Molesworth’s. The name occurred to his mind, and he said 
in a lull in the conversation : 

“ Oh, by the way, do you ever hear anything of our old 
friends the Molesworths ? ” 

Dolly smiled and shook her head. 

“ No ; and yet it seems to me that in one of the letters I 
had from a friend of mine she mentioned them.” 

As they were leaving the dining-room, Dolly said in a 
low tone : 

“ The friend was my cousin, Priscilla Dearborn. She 
tells me how good you have been to her.” 

“It is the other way,” rejoined Alfred. “Did you not 
hear when I was all alone — Aunt Jo and all away — the dear 
little woman nursed me through pneumonia ? You should 
hear Aunt Jo on the subject.” 

More would have been said, but they were coming now 
toward Honor, who looked like a picture in the fire-light. 
She sat up in spite of Mrs. Hale’s warning gesture, and 


TIIORNDTKE'S ^'PHILOSOPHY:* 


V9 


held out her hand to Alfred, the soft color creeping into 
her face gladly. 

“ I determined to come down,” she said gayly, as the 
young man looked at her with a grave compassion he could 
not conceal. “ I wanted to witness Dolly in the character 
of lady of the house. Isn’t it funny ; and tell me — does 
she do it well ? ” 

They laughed, and all grouped themselves about the fire- 
side, Dolly drawing Nona down upon a low divan at her 
side, while Alfred took an easy-chair near the sofa, and 
Mrs. Hale and her knitting had the place near the lamp- 
lit table. 

‘‘Admirably,” said Alfred. “ Quite to the manor born ! 
I assure you, the way she indicates orders to Simms with 
her eyebrows is quite fascinating. A peculiar contraction 
of the left one seems to mean, ‘ Simms, Miss Marston will 
take some currant jelly’; another, ‘Mr. Thorndyke has 
finished his salad.’” 

“Absurd,” declared Dolly, “when Simms is the one 
being I regard with absolute awe ! Unless I knew he was 
getting stone-blind, I shouldn’t dare signal to him.” 

“Don’t listen to her. Miss Honor. I believe she and 
Simms rehearse it in the butler’s pantry before dinner. 
Mind, young lady,” he added, leaning forward and clasping 
his hands lightly between his knees, while his eye-glasses 
gleamed on Dolly, and the fire-light showed her his face, 
by no means melancholy or somber now ; “ mind, when 
you’ve something very grand going on, you don’t get your 
signals mixed.” 

“ If you are there, I shall make a point of signaling so 
that your plate is snatched away at the very moment you 
are most enjoying what is on it,” retorted Dolly. Then, 
fearing too much excitement for Honor, Dolly carried Nona 


80 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


off to the drawing-room for a quiet chat ; Mrs. Hale knitted 
on. murmuring “purl one,” “over,” “slip-stitch,” now and 
again, as she followed printed directions before her, and 
young Thorndyke amused Honor in a quiet, pleasant fash- 
ion for the next half hour. 

The girl’s heart was beating with anxiety to know 
whether he thought her really ill. During Dolly’s absence 
abroad Alfred and Honor had grown to be very good 
friends ; especially during part of one winter she had passed 
in New York, when a hope of her complete restoration to 
health had placed the young girl in a seventh heaven of 
delight. Since then these “ colds ” had been more frequent ; 
more wearing ; and Honor was tormenting herself lest this 
coming winter she be “exiled,” as she called it, to some 
warmer climate than her beloved home or New York, where 
Dolly and every one would be. Alfred had no idea 
what he was doing when, on the general principle of en- 
couraging an invalid, he said brightly: 

“ Upon my word j^ouare looking wonderfully well. Honor. 
I can’t see that you show your illness.” 

Something like a spasm of pain — of relief — shot across 
Honor’s heart. The muscles of her mouth quivered for an 
instant. Then she smiled. 

“Oh, I am so glad !” the long-drawn breath told of her 
anxiety. “Then, Alfred,” Honor’s voice was lowered, 
“ beg of them to let me be up and around ! You can’t 
think how I hate this giving in.” 

“ But don’t they know best ? ” he said gently. 

“No, no ; I am sure I would be better off ! There will 
be so much that is interesting ; and another thing,” she hesi- 
tated, and looked down with a smile. “ If I am an invalid, 
I must be humored, you know.” 

“Yes;” he looked quite ready to indulge any ordinary 


THORND TKE 'S ‘ ‘ PHIL 0 SOPHY. 


81 


caprice. “ ‘ Being tliy slave, wliat sliall I do but tend ’ — you 
know the rest.” 

She laughed cheerfully. 

“ When Dolly goes down to New York, you must be sure 
and have her take tea at your new rooms, won’t you ? ” 

“Why, is that all? Of course. In fact I asked her al- 
ready. But why do you ” 

“ Oh, I have my reasons,” she answered, with a saucy 
look. “ Never mind. I’ll tell you later on, as the villain in 
the plays says. Now I know you have lots to tell Dolly 
about the General’s business, and you musn’t mind me. Send 
Nona here, will you. Mi-s. Hale, am I not good to let him 
go away so soon ? ” 

Mrs. Hale smiled indulgently upon the delicate face 
turned toward her. 

“ You are good,” she said heartily. “ Mr. Thorndyke, 
she really is a good little Honor.” 

“ There,” sighed Honor ; “ I wish I had that printed and 
framed to hang up in my room ! No one should complain 
of me after that.” 

There was a sudden movement at the drawing-room door. 
Dolly and Nona were coming back, so that Honor’s sacri- 
fice, as she said, was just in time to look like generosity, 
and Nona being established on the low footstool near 
Honor’s couch, Dorothy returned with Alfred to hear all 
the General’s orders and commissions. 

They dealt chiefly with directions for the place, and, 
when Dolly wondered why he intrusted them to her, Alfred 
looked at her with a peculiar smile. 

“ Can’t you see,” he said, leaning his arms on the table 
near which he sat, and where some papers were scattered 
from his pocketbook, “ he is anxious to have you fully 
appreciate that you are his heiress. He said the same in 
6 


82 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


twenty ways to me to-day. You know our firm transact a 
great deal of his business. Well, then, I suppose lie wishes 
you gradually to learn to bear the yoke.” 

“I see”; Dolly looked thoughtfully at her companion for 
a moment, and then said abruptly, “ I can only wish I 
interfered with no one else.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ There are others, bound to him by far closer ties of 
kindred — of long association. I am an interloper, it seems 
to me.” 

Thorn dyke’s eyebrows went up. 

“ Your usual, or I had better say old way of tormenting 
yourself as to your own right to anything.” 

“ No, no. Don’t mistake me,” slie spoke hastily and with 
rising color. ‘‘ I am far, very far from anything at all 
heroic in my feelings. I don’t even pretend for an instant 
not to like it — the money even — the — the sense of luxuiy.” 
A smile stole across her face as she encountered his fixed, 
serious gaze. “ Do you remember some of our flights ? our 
pictures of what a dream life could be? Well, since I have 
realized the power of wealth, I have felt — what shall I say — 
dare I confess it ? ” His quiet but interested manner reas- 
sured her, and she went on, “ I have felt at times almost 
intoxicated by the thought that all of that might actually 
be within my grasp. Can you understand me — is it un- 
worthy ? ” 

“ I understand only dioo well ” he answered gravely. 
“ No, it is not unworthy ; it — but there — what ami, to sug- 
gest to you not to let it be — paganism ? ” 

“ You think there is a danger of that ? ” He had begun 
to move about the room after a fashion he had when per- 
plexed, and Dolly’s eyes followed him with pleading in 
them. 


THORNDYKE'S ^•PHILOSOPHY/' 83 

“ Yes, unquestionably. But I can’t talk of it just now. 
Dorothy, listen.” He paused, and stood before the young 
girl with folded arms and something intensely serious in 
his expression. “Words of mine can’t tell you how anx- 
iously I am going to watch you for a little while. Drink 
this intoxicating cup as you call it j hold it to your lips 
until ” 

He broke off. 

“ Go on,” demanded Dolly. “ What has happened that 
you are afraid to advise me ? ” 

“Well, then ; until you feel that it is absorbing some- 
thing of your better, higher self ” 

“ But,” interrupted the girl, “ what if I lose myself in it ? 
If I fail to know when to stop, or find it has become too 
necessary to me ? I fear that,” she added very gravely. 

Alfred smiled. 

“ I do not fear for you,” he answered. “ I recall things 
in that ‘long ago ’ you were bemoaning, which give me 
confidence.” 

Dolly was silent for a moment. She had felt many 
vague doubts and perplexities about her new position ; had 
meant to talk it over with her faithful friend and counselor, 
Emily Anderson. Mrs. Hale, although still retaining the 
position of mentor in certain matters, and a most judicious 
guide when all social questions were concerned, would have 
only smiled at such suggestions from her former pupil, 
and present charge. Her satisfaction in Dolly’s new posi- 
tion was complete. She could see no flaws in it. A few 
hours^ago Dolly would have been sure it would be the 
easiest thing to talk with absolute freedom to Alfred 
Thorndyke, but now something jarred her. She fancied his 
sympathy at this moment was the amende for what had 
passed ; what he had so unwittingly betrayed before dinner. 


84 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


One point, however, remained to discuss with him. The 
Hildreths. 

‘‘ I must know what Cousin Angus wishes me to do,” she 
said anxiously. Mrs. Hildreth has called twice — I am in 
such a bothering position. You know Fred Marston ? 
He has been very kind since Honor was ill, and seems a 
nice sort of boy himself.” (Poor Fredrick!) “Well he 
assures me thrt Florence is a lovely girl — deserving, he 
says, a better fate. ” 

Alfred leaned back in his chair with a shrewd smile. 

“ Yes, I know Marston,” he said, and occupied himself 
for a moment balancing a Venetian paper-cutter carefully 
on tlie table. 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“You said a "hile ago,” the young man said, looking up 
suddenly ; the c irk eyes back of his glasses very serious 
now; “that the Hildreths might call to-morrow. Well, 
will it seem intrusive if I stay over and then give you my 
opinion ? I have to see Mr. Marston on legal business 
any way.” 

“ Intrusive ! ” Dolly eyes sparkled. “ Don’t use that 
word when you are my guest.” 

So it was arranged. Long after the rest of the house- 
hold were asleep the spark of Thorndyke’s cigar was to be 
seen, as the young man slowly paced up and down the 
broad-terraced walk in front of the house. His mind was 
busy over many things, and yet he allowed fancy to rise 
more than once, and the graver questions for debate within 
him were broken in upon by dreams that the silence, the 
hour, the experiences of the evening seemed to justify. 
He had been intrusted with the management of some of 
the old General’s business, and therefore was at liberty to 
discuss various questions with Dolly and to assume the 

( 


TIIORNDYKE'S ''PHILOSOPHY. 


85 


r 61 e of counselor on more than one point ; but a new hesi- 
tation had arisen in the young man’s mind about dictating 
to her — advising as to her friendships, associations, actions. 
It would be delightful, no doubt, to have the sweet gray 
eyes seek his for signs of approval, criticism, sympathy, as 
they used to do in those days the young people called 
“old times”; to know that slie considered his judgment 
and inclination of superior value ; and yet, and yet — 
Thorndyke folded his arjus and threw his head back ; reso- 
lute to face what he knew or felt should be the limitations 
in this friendship. Rules for the future, hard perhaps, 
but to be abided by as a matter of honor if nothing else 
took shape in his mind, were recorded almost with the 
solemnity of a vow ; yet as he tossed thecend of his cigar 
away and went into the house again he -^fleeted that the 
utmost reserve in certain ways need not prjwent his “ watch- 
ing over ” tlie girl’s interest where he <;*ould ; noting how 
the future mapped out for her by J>er guardian would 
affect her life, her needs, her nature, g 


CHAPTER XIL 


FIVE o’clock tea. 

Fred Marston was seated before his desk in Ids father’s 
office, busy going over and over certain columns of figures 
whicli he liad written down, altered, added up, subti*acted 
from, in fact put through all the “first branches” of 
arithmetic, evidently with no satisfactory result to himself. 
A fine line between his brows gradually deepened, and 
pushing the papers impatiently from him, he leaned back in 
his chair, thrusting his hands in his pockets and staring 
moodily out of the second-story window in front of him, 
his eyes fixed on the town clock just across the street. 

He was alone in the office. It was noon, and while his 
father and the clerk, Rob Mayhew, had gone home to din- 
ner, he had remained ; ostensibly to look over some papers 
for General Bering, but in reality to keep an appointment 
witli a person be preferred seeing alone. 

The black hands on the old clock opposite had scarcely 
pointed to a quarter-past twelve when the door of the outer 
office opened quietly, and an elderly man with a face 
roughened by exposure, ferret eyes, and a thin, pursed-up 
mouth made his appearance. He glanced somewhat cau- 
tiously about him as he entered, and waited for Fred to 
speak. 

“Helloa Baker,” said that jmung gentleman with an 
easy assumption of indifference, and only half rising to 
greet his guest. “Sit down. Well, what’s the good 
word ? ” 


FIVE O'CLOCK TEA. 


87 


Mr. Baker sat down near the end of the table, and 
pursed his lips more tightl}^ together. 

“Well, sir,” he said slowly, “I’ve been to see the parties 
we spoke of, you know. Of course they’d do it for me. My 
security is all right ; but you see it’s rayther different when 
it comes to loaning any more just on your I. O. XT’s. 
And, to tell you the truth, I don’t seem to feel clear in my 
mind that I’ll get my money back.” 

“ Oh, yes you do,” said Fred carelessly ; but the line on 
his forehead had not disappeared, and his handsome young 
face looked decidedly gloomy. “ I’m not afraid of that ; 
you’ll get it back one way or another.” He pushed one of 
the bits of paper toward the old man, and indicated certain 
figures. “ That is tlie way we stand now, is’nt it ? Interest 
and all.” 

Baker took the paper into his thin hands, and half closing 
one eye, ran up and down the column with the other. 

“ Ye-es, I believe it is. But, if I get this extra hundred 
and fifty for you to-day, it’ll be at a much higher rate.” 

“Well, you know I have to get it. What’s the use of 
wasting time ? My father will be back any minute.” 

“ There is a little commission you might undertake,” 
Baker said, with his eyes fixed on Fred’s fair, flushed face, 
“ and I don’t mind saying if you carried it through I’d make 
it worth your while.” 

“ What’s that. Hurry up, will you ? ” 

“ Perhaps you are well acquainted with this girl General 
Bering has adopted,” said Baker, still aggravatingly delib- 
erate. “Well, she owns, subject to a small mortgage, a 
farm near Johnsburg. Now, it’s advertised for rent, and I 
have a party ready to take it, but the difficulty is, the 
girl wouldn’t hear of making any terms with me. I’m sure 
of that. I want it from November on a three years’ lease. 


88 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


Now, then, you could be tlie lawyer employed by the party, 
do you see, to negotiate. I don’t see why it couldn’t be 
managed.” 

The subject was discussed in all its bearings for the next 
quarter of an hour. Fred was still agreeably conscious of 
his success in influencing Dolly in favor of the Hildreths, 
and only too confident that he could carry through old 
Baker’s plan satisfactorily. Ways and means were gone 
into — the interview ended, as too many others had, in the 
transfer of one hundred and fifty dollars from the old man’s 
greasy pocket-book to Fred’s hands, in return for a note at 
six months. Left alone the young man smoothed the 
wrinkles from his brow and whistled gayly. How deep in . 
the money-lender’s toils he was sinking, only Baker himself 
could have told, and Fred, with every fresh recuperation 
from certain losses where he had confidently expected 
gains, felt that a new lease of life was given him. The 
idea of carrying out Baker’s suggestion pleased him im- 
mensely. His vanity had not yet recovered from the flat- 
tering impulse given it, and when about four o’clock he 
made bis way up the drive at the Glen for an afternoon 
call on “the ladies,” every trace of annoyance and anxiety 
had disappeared and he was the well-dressed, self-satisfied, 
smiling Beau Brummel of Beckford, whom Dorothy Kent 
had ventured to designate to young Thorndyke as a “ nice 
boy ! ” 

Sounds of voices, laughing and talking, greeted him as 
soon as he was in the hall, and on being ushered into the 
long drawing-room he found quite a sociable party as- 
sembled. Indeed, it looked almost like a regular afternoon 
tea, and young Marston for a moment hesitated about in- 
truding; but Dolly, from her station back of a prettily set 
tea-table, looked up to nod and smile brightly, and he 


FIVE O'CLOCK TEA, 


89 


caught glances from Nona and Winifred as he made his 
way toward the young mistress of the house. 

It had been quite by chance that three or four people 
had called that afternoon. Dolly was particularly well 
pleased that Alfred should meet some of her Beckford 
neighbors, and had ordered tea, in the hopes of detaining 
them for a sociable talk until the Hildreths made their ap- 
pearance. Thorndyke was seated near Mrs. Neil, talking in 
the way the little lady liked best, taking it for granted that 
she went into “ society ” so much that events of the day he 
mentioned were all familiar to her. Mary Neil and her 
chum Winifred were laughing shrilly over some anecdote 
Honor — half -reclining in a deep easy- chair — was relating 
to them, while near Dolly’s tea-kettle the Presbyterian 
clergyman’s mother, Mrs. Rainey, was giving Mrs. Hale, 
and occasionally Dorothy, doleful pictures of the misery 
at the “ Mill End ” of the town. The clergyman himself, 
a spare, resolute-looking young man, with gentle eyes and 
a strong chin, was helping Dolly serve her fragrant tea 
with the air of a person unaccustomed to mere idling, while 
the onl}^ unoccupied and silent member of the party was 
Nona Marston. She was, perhaps, of all, however, the most 
content ; it being happiness enough for her to sit in the 
lovely, cheering room, to smile now and then back at 
Dorothy, to listen to Honor’s nonsense, to watch the 
delicate, fair face, note every sign of weariness, as Dolly 
had privately asked her to do, and try to keep the invalid 
from being over-tired. 

“ How do you do, Mr. Marston ? ” Dolly said with frank 
cordiality, and holding out her hand across some dainty 
Sevres teacups. ‘‘ You won’t mind my not getting up ? 
Will you have tea ? ” 

Young Marston thought not, and stood a little stiffly at 


90 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


Dolly’s side until Mr. Rainey made room for him, and he 
dropped into a low chair near tlie table. It occurred to 
him, with a sense not altogether satisfactory, that Thorn- 
dyke, who had been to the office on business that day, 
looked particularly at home and on terms of familiarity 
with the household. He jumped up to take a cup of tea 
from Dolly to somebody directly he saw it was ready, and 
he said, “ How d’ye do, Marston,” in an off-hand kind of 
manner, as if he were one of the family, and he presently 
suggested to Honor that she looked tired. Dorothy, how- 
ever, all unconscious of the gloom gathering on Fred’s 
spirits, talked brightly enough to him, and five moments 
later, before any of the little party had moved from their 
places, the door-bell rang once more, and, in another 
instant, Mrs. Hildreth and her daughter were entering the 
room. 

It did not need the quick glance Dolly shot at Alfred to 
assure her he was on the alert, although no one but she 
would have guessed it from his. cool, composed manner. 
Mrs. Neil said in a low tone, “Dear me! — what next?” 
and smiled significantly at Thorn dyke, who made no sign 
beyond a slow stroking of his dark mustache with the well- 
shaped brown hand, which Mrs. Neil had already decided 
was so aristocratic, and Dorothy, determined that none of 
her guests should detect her embarrassment, moved for- 
ward at once to greet the new-comers with more cordiality 
than usual. 

Floy, exquisitely dressed in black lace, with only a bunch 
of crimson flowers in her belt for color, a small, close-fitting 
bonnet, all black, but with the flash of rubies in the pins 
that fastened a narrow tie beneath her chin, looked, even to 
Tliorndyke’s eyes, the finished., elegant creature which Mrs. 
Hildreth designed her to be ; and if her manner was, as 


FIVE O'CLOCK TEA. 


91 


usual, smilingly indifferent, there was certainly no hauteur 
in it. The beautiful dark eyes were lifted to Dolly’s face 
as the girls shook hands, with something so softly appeal- 
ing in tliem that one looker-on, the discontented young 
man near Dolly’s tea-table, wondered how Miss Kent could 
steel herself against something so gently attractive, ‘‘ and 
generous of her, too, by Jove,” thought poor Fred, with an 
inward sigh. 

“ Delighted to see your cousin down,” Mrs. Hildreth 
said, as she took a seat not far from Honor, and Dolly 
offered tea to both the late arrivals. Floy, with one glance, 
had taken in the whole scene ; and, while she stirred her 
tea a very little, was resolving in her mind what would be 
her next step. Thorndyke’s fixed glance had not escaped 
her. His air of distinction, his manner “ of the world,” 
his strong dark face, not handsome like Fred’s perhaps, 
but decidedly “interesting,” had attracted her attention 
at once, and she resolved quickly that he was one to be 
brought over to their side. It was tiresome, for the 
first time, thought the girl, to have Fred Marston at her 
side, talking eagerly, half -confidentially to her ; but in 
a few moments Thorndyke approached ; he held his hand 
out with his serious smile, and reminded her of meeting 
her years ago at the Andersons’. 

Useless for poor Fred to sulk ! He had to draw back 
and let Alfred monopolize Florence for the next few min- 
utes, while Mrs. Hale and Mrs. Hildreth were discussing 
Honor’s illness in a somewhat constrained fashion, and 
Dolly found time for a little chat with Mrs. Neil. 

“Really, quite a levee. Miss Kent,” said Mrs. Neal, 
smiling. “ I’m sure you might take pity on us, and 
have a regular ‘afternoon.’ Don’t you think so, Mrs. 
Hale?” 


92 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE, 


“Dorotliy lias not begun an^^thing of the kind yet,” 
said Mrs. Hale, smiling, but with a tone of decision. 

“ Oh, but this is only the cowntry^'* retorted Mrs. Heil, 
‘‘ This wouldn’t count, and it would be such a blessing to 
the village. If you knew how dull it is sometimes ! ” 

‘‘ There is plenty to do, I’m sure,” interposed Mrs. Rai- 
ney. “ Those people in the Mill End of the town would be 
better for many an afternoon. 

Mrs. Neil laughed. 

‘‘ I’m worse than useless that way,” she said, “ unless,” 
with a glance at Dolly’s interested face, ‘‘ some one else 
takes the lead and shows me what to do.” 

“ That is my case,” said Dorothy quietly, and she looked 
up at the young clergyman’s grave countenance. ‘‘ Mr. 
Rainey, you ought to be able to lead us.” 

“ I could indicate,” he said, a quick flush rising on his 
thin cheek. “We must not impose upon you. Miss Kent, 
but if at any time you choose to discuss it, you will find 
me more than willing to lay the whole state of affairs be- 
fore you.” 

“ I do choose,” said Dolly, in a low tone. “ I shall not 
forget it.” 

A look of gratitude brightened the young man’s face, and 
Mrs. Neil hastened to say : 

“ Oh, Miss Kent, if we could get up something really 
entertaining ; some private theatricals, you know, or tab- 
leaux, we would have fun and make money too.” 

“ I don’t like that spirit,” said the dauntless Mrs. Rainey, 
unmindful of a warning glance from her son. “ Hard 
work among the people is what is needed.” She rose, and 
with ill-concealed contempt for Mrs. Neil’s frivolity, passed 
her by, while she held out her hand to bid Dolly good- 
afternoon. 

“It has been a pleasant afternoon, my dear,” she said, 


FIVE O'CLOCK TEA. 


93 


with a searching glance at the fair, unclouded face of Gen- 
eral Bering’s ward. “ I hope we shall see a great deal of 
you before you leave.” 

When the Raineys and Mrs. Neil and her daughter liad 
departed, Dolly turned toward Mrs. Hildreth ; those min- 
gled feelings of a desire to be kind and courteous, and a 
dread of the General’s disapproval, making it hard for lier 
to seem natural; but, as she sat down on a low ottoman near 
Mrs. Hale and began an idle talk about Beckford, there 
was some satisfaction in the idea that Alfred was present ; 
he was “ watching ” for her, and would later have some ad- 
vice to give. She looked involuntarily in his direction. 
He was bending forward in an easy attitude talking to 
Floy, one elbow on his knee, his cheek on his hand, while 
there was no mistaking the look of admiration in his glance. 
And then a curious thing happened. Florence was listen- 
ing to what her companion said with a quiet, half-dreamy 
expression, and as Dolly’s eyes for an instant rested on her 
face, the scene in the Becksport Hotel parlor flashed across 
her mind. She uttered a little “Oh ! ” like an exclamation 
of wonder, surprise, satisfaction, all in one, for at last what 
had puzzled and tormented her grew clear. It was the 
wonderful likeness to Miss Hildreth in that strange girl 
which had tormented h^r. She saw it now ; but whereas 
the girl called “Add3^” had been all serenity — unruffled, 
unintellectual, calm — Floy Hildreth’s face, even in repose, 
held that sparkle, fire, tempest, as it were, which sometimes 
captivated, sometimes dismayed people. This seemed the 
only difference, and Dorothy, who had startled every one 
by her little cry of surprise, felt she ought to explain her- 
self, and, perhaps, account for a resemblance which was 
surely a remarkable coincidence, since Florence Hildreth’s 
type was a most unusual one. 

“ Very strange I ” said Mrs. Hildreth, with a fixed 


94 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


smile. Dolly had laughingly and half-apologetically told 
of her chance meeting with these people, and how “some- 
tliing” about the stranger had bothered her. “It was like 
trying to remember a name, or a dream,” she said. “It 
has tormented me ever since ; but now I am satisfied.” 

The room seemed for an instant to be reeling about Mrs. 
Hildreth. They mu&t get away as soon as possible, but 
not until she had satisfied herself thoroughly in regard to 
this experience Dolly so carelessly related ! 

“ They were with an old man, you say,” said Mrs. Hil- 
dreth, forcing herself to composure. 

“ Oh, yes ; I recognized him ; his name is Baker.” 

“ Baker,” echoed Fred involuntarily. He, too, felt 
startled and confused, but he added quickl}'-, “ He is, or 
was, a client of ours — if it is Peter Baker.” 

“ Yes,” assented Dolly, annoyed Avith herself for having 
brought the subject up ; it revived painful memories for 
her. 

“ It may have been his daughter,” suggested Alfred ; 
and then Dolly “ floundered ” still deeper. 

“ Oh, no ” ; she said quickly. “ He has no daughter. 
There is poor Evvy, his niece, who used to live with him. 
Poor girl ! ” 

A queer feeling of constraint ^on all sides was in the 
brief silence which followed. Honor had been curiously, 
intently watchful of the little scene. To her shrewd eyes 
there was something very odd in Mrs. Hildreth’s expression. 
She had been swift to note the change in her tone ; the 
hard, dull sound, when she questioned Dorothy ; and Fred 
Marston’s face had flushed and paled as Dolly mentioned 
Baker’s name. “ Upon my word it was quite dramatic,” 
she said later to Alfred. 

Mrs. Hildreth was rising now ; the good-byes were 


FIVE O'CLOCK TEA. 


95 


exchanged. Dorotliy still unaccountably puzzled heard 
Alfred promising to call at the cottage on his next visit; 
then tlie widow and her daughter went away, declining 
Fred’s offer of escort with decision, much to the young 
man’s surprise. 

Florence waited until they were beyond the Glen gates ; 
then she turned around with a dangerous expression in her 
eyes. 

“ Mother ! ” she exclaimed, ‘‘ what does it mean ? Don’t 
deceive me ! I saw in a moment, the way you looked, 
there was something! When Dolly spoke of that girl’s 
looking like me — and all that. Tell me,” persisted Flor- 
ence, putting one of her gray-gloved hands on her mother’s 
arm and lowering her voice, although there was a tone of 
command in it. 

“ There is' nothing,” exclaimed Mrs. Hildreth, shaking 
the girl’s hand off impatiently. ‘‘If I looked at all con- 
scious, it was because that man Baker was involved in so 
many unfortunate business transactions of your poor 
father’s. Don’t be silly, Florence ! I declare there are 
times when you make me feel like running away from 
everything and everybody.” 

“ Why should you feel like that ? ” said Florence coldly. 
She had not the least doubt her mother was merely evading 
her question. “Are you afraid of this man, mamma? 
What’s the use of jonx pretending f ” 

“ You are very rude,” said the mother quickly. “ Why 
should I pretend^ as you call it, with you ? There, Flor- 
ence ; go in the house. I am going to call on Mrs. Rainey.” 

Florence lingered at the gate long enough to assure her- 
self that her mother’s steps were bent in the direction of 
the minister’s little cottage, and then made her way slowly 
into their bright drawdng-room, where she sat down “ think- 


96 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


ing out ” a solution to what had passed. “ I will consult 
Fred,” was her final reflection. ‘‘Perhaps as this Baker is 
a client of theirs, he will know. I’m not going to have 
mamma spoil everything now with some of her absurd mys- 
teries. It was just her faculty for that sort of thing which 
disgusted the General, and she’s not going to begin it over 
again, if I can stop it.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


IN THE GLOAMING. 

Doeoth's^ and Honor often looked back to the week 
which followed Alfred Thorndyke’s visit, and the im- 
promptu “ afternoon tea,” recalling its events with peculiar 
tenderness ; for, in spite of Dolly’s varied duties, and Honor’s 
invalidism, there were many hours of the happiest, most 
peaceful description, and in days which left them less time 
for quiet they used to talk of that brief period as though it 
had been most eventful, instead of only tranquil and sooth- 
ing in its influence. 

Honor enjoyed keenly watcliing Dolly assume ‘‘the reins 
of government ” in her little domain. It was fun to both 
girls to discuss the household matters. Dolly carried up 
Honor’s breakfast herself every morning, and curling her- 
self on the foot of the bed while her cousin slowly enjoyed 
the dainty little meal, she would relate all that had passed 
between herself and Mrs. Moper, or the august Simms, in 
regard to the new regulations of the household. 

“Isn’t it queer,” she said one morning. “That Cousin 
Angus insists on my deciding everything for myself. I 
can’t even get an up and down opinion from Mrs. Hale.” 

“ I’ll tell you what it is,” said the astute Honor ; “ he’s 
trying you. He wants to see how you’ll manage.” 

“Do you think so?” said Dolly, who had unbounded 
faith in Honor’s power of divination. “ Well, I hope he won’t 
be disappointed. If only Aunt Jule were here ! Mrs. Moper 
is really very good. She is perfectly willing to stay right 

7 97 


98 


FOR UONOR'8 SAKE. 


on if she can keep Sarah Bowclier while we are in New York, 
and liave Joseph, the gardener you know, sleep in the house. 
Then if the General takes it into his head, as Alfred sug- 
gested he might, to spend Christmas here, of course we’d 
bring the servants up from New York.” 

“I declare,” said Honor. “It’s positively bewildering. 
Dolly, do you feel it’s real? that it’s you and me really 

“ Not always,” laughed Dolly; “ but I try to be matter-of- 
fact. I tell you what, Honor — I foresee whenever we are 
here there will be more or less company — and I mean,” with 
a swift shy blush, “ to arrange a little sitting-room — a sanc- 
tum — somewhere for ourselves ; a place where we need 
never be afraid of chance visitors popping in unexpectedly.” 

“ Lovely,” assented Honor. “ All along I’ve only been 
afraid you’d not — well, not take things in a proper sort of 
way — you’d fret your life out being afraid things were too 
good for you. What room do you think of ? ” 

They debated the question that morning, and Dolly de- 
cided with Honor, finally, that a room just across the hall 
would be best ; a large, recessed, sunshiny room with 
windows on two sides. 

“And oh!” sighed Dolly, “I wish the General would 
live up here altogether ! he could visit in New York some- 
times.” 

This morning hour of confidential talk, planning and dis- 
cussing, over, Dolly would leave Honor in Jane’s liands 
and go out about the place enjoying it all ; gathering the 
late autumn blossoms to deck the drawing and dining-room 
with ; sometimes running across to the River House for a 
moment with a message from Honor to Nona, an invitation 
for the evening, perhaps, or a suggestion for the morrow. 
On such occasions she was certainly keenly aware of the 
disorder which reigned in the big, rambling house, but 


IN THE GLOAMING. 


99 


seemed to close her eyes to it, and she and Honor and Mrs. 
Hale had various plans for helping Nona in her anxious, 
but apparently ineffectual attempts to set things right. 
Naturally, whatever was done would have to be cautiously 
managed, but Nona had not hesitated to ask advice, and to 
lay bare the difficulties which beset her best endeavors, and 
it looked as though something really judicious and satis- 
factory might result. By luncheon time Honor would be 
up and dressed, and as every day of that quiet, happy week 
had proved fine, there was always a drive in the early after- 
noon. Then coming back Dolly would write letters “ home,” 
as they called Johnsburg, for both of them, reporting prog- 
ress, etc.; a daily line was sent the General, whose lame 
foot still kept him in town, after which came the hour both 
girls liked the best — “ between the lights ” — when Honor 
would rest on the sofa, either in her own or the drawing- 
room ; the wood fire would crackle brightly and all manner 
of subjects occur to the girls to discuss. Dolly, curled up 
on a great white rug before the drawing-room fire, during 
such hours, used to look to Honor wonderfully like the girl 
who had thought it happiness enough, four years ago, to 
drive in fi-om the Homestead to Dr. Kent’s house in Johns- 
burg, take her painting lesson, and carry Honor home with 
her for the night. Why was it. Honor would ask herself, 
that at nearly twenty-one, Dorothy had lost so little of her 
childlike charm and simplicity, and sometimes, even as the 
question was on the younger cousin’s mind, Dolly would 
bring that sweet soft look of hers around to Honor, and 
the answer would seem to be given from the depths of her 
eyes. To nothing fair or true or pure in the childish 
days had Dolly ever been disloyal. Honor sometimes 
asked herself whether she had been as true to the old ideal 
they used to have of what would be “heroic” ; but any- 


100 


FOB HONOR'S SAKE. 


thing like self-questionings brought the old torment — the 
old rebellious mood — and surely the girl would say to herself 
she could afford to enjoy all that life had to offer and close 
her eyes to anything vexatious in the future. 

“ Dolly,” she said suddenly, one afternoon, breaking in 
upon an unusually long silence. “Do you think you’ll 
like it ? ” 

“ What ? ” laughed Dolly, who was sitting on the rug 
before the fire with her hands clasped around her knees. 

“ Why, all that you’ll have to do and see and be this 
winter,” pursued Honor. “If you go down to New York 
in November ” 

“ Oh ! ” interrupted Dolly. “ Didn’t I tell you ? How 
could I forget ? The General wrote to-day to Mrs. Hale, say- 
ing that the Fifth Avenue house is in need of any amount 
of repair, and he has consulted Mrs. Anderson and decided 
to take a furnished house which is to let a few doors from 
them.” 

“ Enchanting,” cried Honor ; “ of course it won’t be quite 
as ” 

“ Exclusive,” put in Dolly with a smile, “ to quote Ada 
Vandeveer’s favorite word, as the Fifth Avenue house, but 
I know I shall like it better. To tell you the truth. Honor, 
I’ve always dreaded that great solemn mansion. He says 
in this letter that Mrs. Anderson has inspected the house 
and if— now, don’t scream — I am satisfied, he will rent it 
for six months. Dear old man ! How am I ever to be good 
enough to him ? ” 

“ You needn’t worry,” Honor rejoined. She laid still a 
moment with her cheek on her hand, the firelight shining 
on her face. “ Do you suppose the Hildreths will spend 
all the winter with you?” she said calmly. 

Dolly started. 


V 


IN THE GLOAMING. 


101 


“Why, what do you mean?” she asked, with a tone of 
genuine alarm. 

“ Oh, I can see how things are drifting,” resumed Honor 
easily. “My dear Dorothy, you are no more a match for 
those two than — well, than I am for the Norwegian giant. 
You may fight it oif, say to yourself fifty times over that 
you won’t give in, but I know how it will end.” 

“ How ?” Dolly was half -amused, half -troubled. Honor" 
continued, with the air of having thought the whole matter 
out, which indeed she had more than once. “ Why, 
little by little you will come to feel it your duty to make 
everything of Florence ; you will get the General to invite 
them for a short visit, which will be gradually lengthened 
until at last they will make their home with you ; and then 
good-by to your freedom and peace of mind.” 

“I scarcely think it likely to come about,” said Dolly 
thoughtfully. “Anxious as I am to do what is right and 
kind and/w5^, I cannot feel any such arrangement would 
be for Cousin Angus’s happiness ; and, of course, that is my 
first duty.” 

“ Ah ! ” cried Honor, with deep feeling and a tone which 
was positively beseeching. “ Do keep to that, Dolly. If 
only I could feel sure you would. You can’t think how 
something about these Hildreths bothers and annoys me. 
I am sure it is not just one of my prejudices. Before I 
decided to speak to you, I turned myself inside out to 
make sure that I was not acting on any such feeling. I 
do not trust them. H believe, if the truth were known, the 

General had good reasons for any estrangement ” 

“ But,” pleaded Dolly, too conscious of sympathizing 
with Honor to dare say so in words, “remember he is 
not on good terms with Cousin Priscilla — and that is only 
prejudice on his part. Dear and good as he is, we both 


102 


’FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


know that liis prejudices are something invulnerable. 
May not this be another case ? ” 

“ Not at all,” protested Honor. “ Cousin Priscilla never 
gives one that feeling of something sly or calculating or 
hypocritical. Sfie is an old darling, and some of these 
days Cousin Angus will be the first to appreciate her. Oh, 
no. Holly; Mrs. Hildreth will work you evil some way if 
you once give in.” 

“ I hate to think said Holly, in a low voice. 

“I watched heiAi’itically,” pursued Honor, “that day 
she took tea here. whole face changed when 3'^ou told 

about that girl in ‘ecksport looking like Floy. You 
didn’t see it ; there as no mistaking it. You’ll find she 
has some bother with that detestable old Baker she doesn’t 
want known.” 

“ Well,” said Holly, ^till on the defensive, lest in yield- 
ing she show her true colors. “ Hasn’t she the right every- 
body ought to have to keep her affairs to herself ? ” 

“ Ah, but it isn’t that ' You know what a stony color 
her eyes are. Well, the changed in a moment. There 
was fear in them.” 

“ Nonsense,” laughed H 'Ih^ uneasily. “ Honor, I never 
knew you imaginative befc e.” 

“ And Pm not now — just you wait and see. And an- 
other thing. I believe that young jackanapes, Fred Mars- 
ton, could tell you the whole story.” 

“ Oh, Honor ! Come now, poor Fred, what has he done 
to deserve 3'our highness’s sarcasm ? ” 

“ Hone ? Well, nothing particular ; only Pve been 
Veading him like a book — big print, too. And then Al- 
fred enlightened me somewhat.” 

“ Alfred ! ” . Holly turned now swiftly. “ What did he 
say ? ” 


m THE OLOAMim. 


103 


“ Oh, only that he was — well, not always as straightfor- 
ward, he fancied, as he might be.” 

“ Fancied I ” echoed Dolly, with deep scorn. “ How I 
do detest people passing an opinion on others ; condemn- 
ing them because they fancy this, that, and the other. I 
fancy Alfred has grown very — well, worldly I suppose it 
is — but I’m by no means sure of it, and I may be all wrong.” 

Honor was silent. 

‘‘ Why do you think him world ‘ ? ” she said in a mo- 
ment, and there was an odd sound r voice. 

Dolly did not remove her gaze frop^ the fire, but went on 
with an indifferent sort of manner* ‘‘Oh, it is only from 
trifles ; nothing especial. To begin .^y ith, he seemed so en- 
grossed by the idea of my social j ^sition ; the money at 
my command. Oh, I don’t know— -” 

“ But,” persisted Honor, who v^ -s evidently trying to 
steady her voice, “there must b^ve been something to 
make you form such an opinion.” 

Dolly onlj^ shook her head. » 

“Do you think,” said Honor presently, “that he cares 
very much for money ? ” 

She watched Dolly’s profile ,j!f\ the firelight, with some- 
thing keenly anxious in her blu,^ eyes. 

“ I scarcely think that,” Dolly answered slowly. The 
fact that Honor was questioning her with that curious 
tinge of nervous anxiety did not impress her, for the sug- 
gestion had sent her thoughts drifting into a new channel. 
She had felt a tone of worldliness in all Alfred did and 
said and counselled, yet it was only now that she began to 
dread seeing his apparent interest in a newer, more dispirit- 
ing light. But above all, she dreaded doing her old com- 
rade injustice. “ No,” she went on, “ I hardly think in one 
sense he cares for money — yet he unquestionably values. 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


104 ^*^ 

perhaps overvalues, its poicer. That is it, I think. You 
see he has been brought up among people of such luxurious 
tastes and ideas that it would be harder for him than for 
most people to accommodate himself to little economies.” 
She paused. Honor listened gravely, and in a moment 
Dolly, without removing her steady gaze from the fire, 
w’ent on : “ You know. Honor, that winter in New York I 
saw a great deal more of Alfred than I ever realized at the 
time, and you can’t think how freely he always talked over 
everything with me. He told me frankly that he could 
only look for a start in life from his father’s estate — his 
mother and Ethel needed all the rest — but he was very 
iiopful about it then. It never seemed to occur to him that 
money was such a — well, remarkably necessary part of hap- 
piness. Why,” Dolly’s lips curved with a smile, half-wist- 
ful in its meaning, and for a moment she turned to look at 
Honor’s quiet, interested face ; “ we even used to plan 
how much finer a life he could lead fighting his own way. 
I remember how full he was of classical inspiration 

then ” Another pause. Honor, without moving, said 

rather impatiently : 

“Well, of course he isn’t a schoolboy now ; one can’t 
expect heroics all the time.” 

“No, no”; said Dolly slowly. “It isn’t that. But 
what was the root of what you call heroics ought to have 
lasted. Perhaps it has ; I may do him an injustice, but 
I felt while with him — well, as if he thought me a little 
fool for still caring in the same way about the same things. 
I was not, I am not one bit ashamed of keeping to my old 
ideals. I hope when I’m an old woman in cap and spec- 
tacles I’ll care just the same for anything I believe rijjht 
and high and good to-day, but I felt he only smiled at me.” 

Honor moved to put both hands folded under the fair 


m THE GLOAMING. 


105 


cheek that rested on the velvet pillow, but her eyes had 
not changed in looks or the earnest direction of their glance. 
Her heart was beating in swifter strokes as she followed 
every word Dolly uttered, and a new channel of ideas 
about young Thorndyke was opened. 

“ Do you think,” she said at last, “ that he has decidedly 
worldly ambitions now ? ” 

“ Hard to tell,” sighed Dolly. “ Next winter may make 
things clearer.” She did not see the half -start Honor gave, 
nor the color which swept like a wave across her face and left 
it paler, but composed as before. “ I know that his mother 
and Ethel are very ambitious for him, and certainly the 
way he has gone ahead, even this year in Colonel Rogers’s 
office, shows what his ability is. Emily told me that Hiram 
Gay, the best kind of a critic, predicts a wonderful future 
for him, if he chooses to go into politics, and even now 
they say the few times he has argued a case, he has been 
remarkable. ‘ Silver-tongued,’ Mr. Gay called it.” 

Dolly smiled, with a look of pride in her old comrade, 
once her hero.” 

‘‘ And cried Honor softly, “ is what makes you call 
him worldly ! Oh, Dollikins ! I’m afraid I’m very much of 
the earth earthy, too, my dear. If I were — Ethel — I’d aid 
and- abet and encourage him as hard as I could. Oh, how 
proud I’d feel of his talent.” 

“ So would I,” exclaimed Dolly. ‘‘ But don’t you see, 
there could be all the development of talent on earth, if 
only — well, if the other part was kept unstained. There 
is one thing, ” she spoke hurriedly ; “ he had a few words 
about it the other day. He is getting brimful of what he 
calls radicalism in religion. His very powers of argument 
and his eloquence make that dangerous.” 

Honor laughed dismally. 


106 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


“ Set Emily after him,” she said quietly. 

“Emily sees it all,” was Dolly’s answer. “But I can’t 

preach. I can feel — I can ” She hesitated. Some 

way the one topic the cousins never could discuss, the 
one point where they diverged, was this which had un- 
consciously drifted into their conversation. The words 
on Dolly’s lips, over which she faltered, were “ 1 can prayf 
and if Honor, in her own mind, filled up the blank, she 
said nothing. To discuss religion in any fashion, even 
with Dolly, only made her uncomfortable, ill at ease, and 
she hastened now to turn this branch of the subject aside. 

“ I never thought I should care for Ethel and Mrs. Thorn- 
dyke,” she said more cheerfully. “ I cannot help feeling 
they are selfish people.” 

“ It would be almost a miracle if they were not,” laughed 
Dolly. “Just consider what their lives have been. Mrs. 
Thorndyke, so Emmie says, was the ‘ spoiled child ’ of the 
family. You know, although she married first, she was 
the youngest of the three sisters, the beauty and all that ? 
Well, her husband idolized her ; petted and humored every 
whim. When he died, Alfred seems to have stepped into 
' the same place. Of course, he had all he wanted, and I 
fancy in those days they were rather extravagant. How- 
ever, Mrs. Thorndyke was a great deal abroad, which, you 
know, accounted for Alfred’s being so much with the 
Andersons ; and when the family were together Mrs. Thorn- 
dyke made a perfect idol of him — in her way. She was 
very proud of him, I know ” 

“ And Ethel ? ” said Honor. 

“ Well, Ethel once told me that she, never in her life, had 
known what it was to feel very badly — to have a care ; she 
never had a day’s illness, and never lost a night’s rest. 
Doesn’t this give you a pretty good idea of her character ?” 


IN THE GLOAMING. 


107 


“Well, yes. She must be a comfortable little animal.” 

Dolly laughed. The cousins had not discussed these 
subjects since Dorothy returned from Europe, where she 
had known the Thorndykes. A vision of Ethel Thorn- 
dyke, tall, stately, absolutely conventional, arose now, mak- 
ing Honor’s suggestion peculiarly absurd. “Wait until 
you see her,” she exclaimed. “ She is — well, the most per- 
fect ‘ tailor-made girl ’ you can possibly imagine. I am 
sure that everything she does is on a rigid rule. She is 
absolutely correct. Sometimes, when we were all at Biar- 
rite together, I used to feel as if I’d give worlds to shock 
her in some way — to pull off my shoes and stockings and 
dance around the beach with the fisher girls, or to go to 
one of the peasants’ gala meetings in costume. The great- 
est comfort I had was the fact that she looked upon me as 
worth ‘ cultivating,’ and so now and then I dared relieve 
my mind or my feelings, knowing she would not, for any 
consideration, offend me.” 

“ Is she pretty ? 

“ Yes and no ; not pretty. You know the ‘ Fowler look,’ 
as Sybil calls that something which both Alfred and 
Emily have. It is what the French call Bel air, is’nt it ? 
You know how, well, sort of superior Alfred always seems ? 
It would be really taking a liberty, Sybil says, to find any 
fault with his looks ; although no one could call him posi- 
tively handsome.” 

“ Like your little Freddy,” suggested Honor. 

“Precisely,” assented Dolly, giving a log on the fire a 
lift. “ Like my little Freddy. Well, Ethel has that sort of 
‘ hall-mark’ about her. Many a pretty girl looks dowdy 
beside her. She has a perfect complexion, perfect teeth, 
her hair is always in the best order, and she has it taken 
care of on the most rigid rules. I verily believe each 


108 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


spear is brushed separately. Her hands are manicured 
until you really feel she never ought to touch anything but 
softest cambric ; she has boots and shoes for every possible 
occasion, and one rule which she says nothing on earth 
would ever make her vary is that for one hour a day after 
gymnastics she takes a sleep. That, she assured me, 
would keep off wrinkles until you are fifty.” 

‘‘And what did you say ?” 

“What did I say ? Well, the time she said it, we had 
planned a charming excursion, I remember ; but Ethel 
wouldn’t lose her beauty-sleep. We left her, of course, and 
went our way. Just for fun, I drew a lot of crow’s-feet all 
around my eyes and appeared in our little parlor that 
evening perfectly serene and cheerful. I wish you could 
have seen Ethel’s expression ! I told her I was dreadfully 
tired, but I thought the day’s fun paid for it. It was a 
long time before she found me out. After that I think she 
always lived in dread of my doing something dreadful be- 
fore people.” 

“ How unlike the Andersons,” said Honor, “ and Will 
Fowler seems a different sort, I should think.” 

“ Ah, Will was born with the silver spoon of the family 
in his mouth ! He need not care, so far as money goes, 
whether he has talent or not. But, do you know, I believe, 
to do him justice, he cares very little about fortune.” 

“ He never saw the need of it,” said Honor gravely. Her 
mind was still on the first subject of their discourse. She 
watched Holly, even more critically, for a few moments 
while the twilight gathered and the beams of the fire grew 
ruddier, shining on the quiet face of the girl seated in its 
glow, lighting up various objects in the beautiful harmo- 
nious room, touching into flame color the sconces on the 
wall opposite, bringing into sudden relief dark corners, the 


IN TEE GLOAMING. 


109 


ebony cabinet witli its bits of cbina and bronze, the wide 
low table, polished and gleaming, with its litter of luxuri- 
ous writing paraphernalia, books and magazines, showing 
redly on the white hearthrug, the pale-blue hangings of the 
doorway, just across the hall — long shadows stretched 
across the ceiling while the girls were silent. 

“ Honor,” said Dolly suddenly, but in a very quiet voice, 
“Do you remember those verses mamma used to be so 
fond of? ‘How God be with us, for the night is closing.’” 

“ The Bohemian Hymn,” said Honor carelessly — “ go 
on ” 

“ Now God be with us, for the night is elosing ; 

The light and darkness are of his disposing, 

And ’neath His shadow here to rest we yield us ; 

For He will shield us. 

Let evil thoughts and spirits flee before us ; 

Till morning cometh, wateh, O Master o’er us. 

In soul and body Thou from harm defend us ; 

Thine angels send us.” 

Dolly paused. 

“ I must hunt it up,” she said presently. “ There are 
other verses ; all very restful. Mamma loved to say it 
those days in Florence.” 

“ Dolly,” said Honor, in a constrained tone, “ come here 
please.” 

Dolly rose at once and went over to the sofa, Iineeling 
down beside her cousin. 

“ There is something,” said Honor, a trifle hurriedly, 
and Dolly felt almost certain, unusual as it might be, that 
in the dark she saw tears sliining on Honor’s dark lashes, 
“ sometljing I want to ask you, and I know you won’t 
think me inquisitive — or — anything, but please tell me if 
you can truly. DonH you think,” the blue eyes here fixed 


110 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


earnestl}’’ on Dorothy’s twilit face. ‘‘ Don^t you think 
Alfred means some of these days to ask you to marry 
himV” 

For an instant Dolly was silent, feeling that speech was 
impossible. A strange, queer sensation at her heart seemed 
to numb every faculty ; but it ebbed away. Voice and 
heartbeats w^ere composed as before, when she answered 
with absolute sincerity : 

“No dearest. I do not. What made you think of such 
a thing ? ” 

“ It would be so natural — so fitting,” said Honor. 

“ Not at all. The idea would — would disturb what is a 
really happy friendship. I should be sorry to have — any 
one think of such a thing.” 

“ Then you mean,” said Honor, in a low, rather agitated 
voice, “ that if — if he did asJs you such a question, you 
would not consider it.” 

“ Why, Honor,” said Dolly, half in rebuke, half amuse- 
ment. “ Isn’t this taking things too much for granted ? I 
assure you I don’t believe Alfred ever thought of such a 
thing, and if he did — I hope he would never put it into 
words — for — yes — I hate to seem to decide such a question, 
dearest, before it’s ever asked me — but yes — I am quite 
certain I could not as you call it ‘ consider’ it.” 

There was a brief silence between them, and presently 
Dolly went away to attend to some household matter and 
the favorite ‘ gloaming ’ hour was over, for that day at 
least. Honor, left alone, lay very still for a moment ; then 
springing up, went as quickly as she dared up to her own 
room, where she locked the door and flung herself on her 
knees before her bed, her head on her hands, while the hot 
tears she had been restraining flowed unchecked. 

“ Oh, if I could but be well,” she moaned to herself. 


IN THE GLOAMING, 


111 


“ If I felt like Dolly ; if I could pray as she does ! ” And 
a wail went up from the tortured young heart to Him who 
can “ help our unbelief.” “ If I can learn to pray — to 
hope'"* the poor child murmured, and then came a swift 
remembrance of Dolly’s words. It can be no wrong to 
her,” she thought in the midst of her sobbing. “ And I 
would try to be good enough to help him as she would do — 
if she cared for him this way / ” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


EMILY ANDERSON WELCOMES DOLLY. 

‘‘ Are you ready, Emily ? ” 

Mrs. Anderson opened the door of a sunshiny room which 
had formerly been the girls’ study and was now devoted to 
their special use and varied occupations. At this moment 
Sybil, a piquant, sparkling girl of eighteen, was seated in 
the window before an easel, applying some dexterous if not 
very artistic strokes to a small screen she was painting, 
while Emily was fastening on her hat before a mirror above 
the chimney-piece. At twenty-one Emily Anderson had 
developed into precisely the sort of woman her very girlish 
years had promised ; there was a soft graciousness about 
her ; a bloom that was more delicate and varying than 
Sybil’s, but equally attractive, while eyes, lips, voice, the 
very movements of her ever kindly hands expressed some- 
thing of the sweetness of her nature. To the social world 
Hr. Anderson’s quiet, high-bred looking, eldest daughter 
seemed only a very charming, rather too undemonstrative 
girl, very distinguished in appearance, no doubt, still a 
trifle too cold, but to those who knew her best Emily Avas 
a being all tenderness, unselfish thought, and kindly action. 
Brow and eyes, soft dark hair and finely chiseled nose 
were like her mother’s ; the lips with their rare, sweet smile, 
the firmly molded chin, were like her father’s, but the manner 
and the nature were clearly a heritage from both, Mrs. 
Anderson’s quiet dignity and the Doctor’s sensitiveness 
belonging by right to their eldest daughter. Sybil, saucy, 

113 


EMILY ANDERSON WELCOMES DOLLY. 113 

brilliant, captivating little butterfly that she was, might, as 
she would declare absurdly, “be Jenny Jones, or Mary 
Smith,” for all any one would know to the contrary ! “ I 

ought really, mamma, to go about after Emmie, labeled 
‘Anderson’ on one side and ‘Fowler’ on the other, like the 
.sandwich men,” she remarked, after an amusing experience 
where a lady, gazing at Sybil in one of her most dashing 
moods, had been heard to say, “ Don’t tell me that girl is a 
Fowler ! ” and Sybil overhearing it had been urged by her 
cousin Will to behave still more as “Jenny Jones” might 
be excused for doing. What Sybil was likely to do under 
any circumstances no one on earth, not even she herself, 
could predict, and as at present it appeared to be the aim 
of her life to extract from each day all the sweets and glide 
away from the bitter, Mrs. Anderson used sometimes to 
wonder just a little anxiously what would come of it ; but 
anything too “serious” produced from Sybil a gay little 
caress, a hopeless shake of her pretty golden head, or a 
declaration that if other people chose to be “ uncomfort- 
able ” they might ; for her part she meant “ every day to be 
a holiday.” 

Emily turned quickly as her mother entered the room. 

“ Quite ready, mother,” she answered, and added as she 
drew on her gloves, “ how ’nice to have Dorothy with us 
these few days, instead of away down Fifth Avenue.” 

“ Yes, indeed ; nicer still to think she will be our neigh- 
bor very soon,” said Mrs. Anderson, standing back of 
Sybil’s chair, and looking with a critical expression at the 
very florid painting on Sybil’s easel. 

“ I can’t feel it’s coming true,” said Sybil, her head on 
one side, as she examined her work with an anxious eye. 
“ Now Dolly would know just what these poppies need. 

They look — scared somehow.” 

8 


114 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


Emily cast a laughing glance at her sister’s work ; then 
nodding good-by, hurried away, running downstairs and 
out into the sunshiny street, feeling happier than she could 
express at the prospect of seeing Dolly and having her, if 
only for a day or two, all to themselves. 

'There was half an hour, she discovered, to wait at the 
Forty-second Street depot, and while she sat there Emily 
re-read part of Dorothy’s last letter. 

“ It is simply delicious^'* wrote Dolly, “ to feel I am 
really beginning a ‘career’ ! Think, Emmie dear, of the 
pleasure in dispensing hospitality right and left, taking in, 
for instance, next winter, all the people usually left out in 
the cold. I don’t doubt I’ll shock Ada Vandeveer more 
than once by hobnobbing with grandfatherless people. 
And then think of reveling in the power to gratify all of 
what you call my ‘ pagan ’ tastes. By the way. Honor 
and I have picked out a room in the house, which I mean to 
furnish for a special sanctum — a sitting-room of my own 
where we can talk by the hour undisturbed. It shall be such 
a ‘ thing of beauty,’ that when you come back from a weary 
day’s tramp among your poor people, the very thought of 
it will soothe and rest you. I am much interested in what 
I hear of a quarter of this town known as Mill End, where 
the people are poor enough even to satisfy your Samaritan 
heart. When I see you we can talk this over, and you will 
give me some lights, I know. Honor is picking up wonder- 
fully. Dr. Gore says he is very sure there is nothing or- 
ganically wrong with the lungs, and if her general health 
can be improved, she may be as strong as any of us very 
soon. He thinks what seems to be the lung trouble is 
really a slight affection of the heart. You will thoroughly 
like the Marstons. Last night Fred M. spent a couple of 
hours with us. I had a nice talk with him, and got a bet- 


EMILY ANDERSON WELCOMES DOLLY. 


115 


ter insight into liome affairs even than Nona liad given me. 
Fred iias fine artistic feeling, and is naturally fastidious, 
poor fellow, so that the lack of method at home must jar 
upon him as it does upon Nona — but how to help them ? 
My wise Emmie will tell me, I feel sure. By the waj% 
Fred has found a capital tenant for the Homestead, and I 
am to talk it over with the General,” etc., etc., etc. 

Emily read the letter thoughtfully ; it was with a half- 
sigh she replaced it in her pocket. Dolly was inexpressibly 
dear to her. The girls had bonds of sympathy which 
bound them closer than any merely social ties, and the 
sweet, fearless, what Dr. Anderson called “ bonny,” ^tem • 
perament of her friend was a source of constant enjoyment 
to the graver girl ; but in the very elements of Dolly’s 
nature, Emily sometimes feared lurked peril. Fond of all 
that contributed to the poetry and harmony of life, stirred 
by whatever appealed to her enthusiasms or sensibilities, 
Dolly was the very one to be led toward some dizzy 
height, into some cloud-land where mists might obscure 
the sterner, deeper, truer needs of her loyal heart and soul. 
Her simplicity certainly was, so far, untouched ; she was in 
many ways still only a child ; her high principle was un- 
swerving, and her generosity as nearly as possible a fault. 
Yet there was the danger, in her very ardor, of excess in 
her love of the beautiful, her swift response to the poetic 
and the lofty of ideals, which Emily had indeed more 
than once called “ pagan ” in their standard. Alfred 
Thorndyke had been fairly angry with her once when she 
suggested it. “ Why do you want to repress her ? ” he had 
exclaimed. Let her try her wings. Dolly never can be 
anything but herself, and who would wish her to be.” 

So Emily had kept her perturbations after that to her- 
self, and now, as she waited for Dolly’s brain, she deter- 


116 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


mined to give herself unmixed happiness in the few days 
they would be together. 

Five minutes later, and the girls were greeting each 
other enthusiastically ; Dolly had to bear close inspection 
from Emily, and hear herself pronounced ‘‘ rather pale,” as 
indeed she was, but Honor’s illness and the varied duties 
of the la^t three weeks easily accounted for certain lines of 
depression in her face, and as they walked toward Fifth 
Avenue, and Do‘-'''thy tucked her hand confidingly in 
Emily’s r m, her 7es brightened and she chattered away 
gayly. < 


CHAPTER XV. 


DOLLY MAKES HER SPECIAL PLEA. 

“ W HAT is the programme for the afternoon ? ” Mrs. Ander- 
son asked at lunch. The three girls had’ len talking for an 
hour up in the “ den,” as their study W9 called question 
and answer followed quickly on all sort , of sul ts, and 
the luncheon scarcely made a break in the flow of words or 
ideas to be exchanged. 

“ I am to see the General at three o’clock,” said Dolly. 
“ Although the builders are in the house, you know, he 
still has his rooms to himself. How about my seeing the 
new house, Mrs. Anderson, later ? ” 

“ Very good. Will you come direc ly back here ? You 
know it is furnished.” 

“ And a ‘ perfect gem ’ the agen . calls it,” observed 
Sybil. “ Dolly you must give a pi ik dinner in it. The 
dining-room is just the place for it.’* 

‘‘ Dolly will set some new fashion, perhaps,” said Emmie, 
“or ignore some of the foolish one now in favor. Fancy 
going to a luncheon party and co ning home laden with 
presents. I can^t see anything but vulgarity in it ’ 

“ Emily sells hers,” said Sybil scornfully. “ It/ a fact, 
Dolly. She sold everything of the kind to some people 
getting up a fair, and spent the money on her Fi ;h Air 
children, as Alfred calls them.” 

“ And very sensible,” said Emily, but with a little quick 
flush. “I detest that sort of thing, but if people vv’ll do 
it, I don’t see why it shouldn’t benefit somebody.” 

117 


118 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


“ You must not forget,” said Mrs. Anderson, ‘‘ that you 
promised Dolly should take tea at the studio to-morrow.” 

“ Enchanting,” declared Dolly, and she hastened to tell 
all that Nona Marston had to say of her cousin Donald 
Fraser. 

“ He is prime favorite with mother,” laughed Sybil ; and 
Mrs. Anderson said seriously : 

“I quite admit it. You girls may call Donald plain- 
looking and unconventional, if you like, but to my way of 
thinking he could set an example many of the most polished 
society men would do well to follow, and his talent is 
remarkable.” 

“ Granted, mamma,” said Sybil, with a sigh. “ But, oh, 
— if he would care a little more about — well, what people 
sa}^ and think.” 

“ He Cares quite enough,” declared Mrs. Anderson. 
“ Think of his unselfish devotion to his mother and sister. 
Leaving college sooner than see them sacrifice any comfort 
for him. And since then ” 

“I’d find it easier to forgive if they were nicer,” ob- 
jected Sybil. “ Oh, Dolly, if you ever heard of tiresome 
people, then you can guess what these Frasers are. I will 
admit Donald’s patience is very wonderful.” 

The talk went on from this to the Marston household. 
Mrs. Anderson recalled Winifred’s sweet, gentle mother, 
and she said she could well guess at the loss she had been 
to the little family. Dolly’s interest was keen, but her 
mind was preoccupied by the interview ahead of her with 
General Bering. That vexed question of the Hildreths 
must be decided — and how? Dorothy, as she put on her 
wraps in the “pink and gray” room next the girls, and 
to which years ago she had been brought after such dole- 
ful experiences, reviewed her conduct in regard to the 


DOLLY MAKES UER SPECIAL PLEA. 


119 


mother and daughter — wondered if she had acted both 
generously and wisely, and felt that until she knew her 
guardian’s wishes nothing could be ‘‘comfortable” in her 
relations with them. But as she had only the night before 
assured Fred Marston, she would do all in her power to 
soften General Bering’s feeling in regard to these connec- 
tions of his dead wife, who certainly once had been on 
terms of most affectionate cordiality with him. 

The solemn, imposing-looking mansion, too far down on 
Fifth Avenue to be quite in the fashionable world, pre- 
sented an altogether unfamiliar appearance to Dolly as she 
entered it punctually at three o’clock. For six months it 
had been her home, before her father’s death. There she 
had been tranquilly happy, with Mrs. Hale as governess 
and chaperon ; the old General, the most indulgent of 
hosts. But there had always been a sense of constraint in 
her life during that period. Nothing definite was said of 
her future, and she had been reluctant to assume anything 
but the position of a guest. Everything was different 
now. The servant who admitted her greeted her with a 
peculiar deference ; she felt at once that she was regarded 
as the mistress of the house ; and when the General’s sec- 
retary, Mr. Sanders, came downstairs to ask her to come 
at once to his library, his manner had a touch of the same 
peculiar respect which had been shown the girl by all about 
her since her return from Europe ; and if it, at times, caused 
a slight embarrassment, yet it had its charm for Dorothy. 
Naturally fond of an active life, having a certain executive 
ability, the sense of power of “holding the reins” pleased 
her, especially as, whatever her dread less she overindulge 
her luxurious tastes, she was well aware that she had no 
temptation to use such power ungenerously, or to further 
any merely personal and selfish end. 


120 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


Everything on the gi’ound-floor was in confusion. The 
old dining-room had been torn out, the General design- 
ing quite a new arrangement for this floor and the 
next, and Dolly picked her way up the great staircase, 
over bits of plaster and molding, sawdust, and some 
painters’ rags. 

“ It will be veiy fine when it’s finished,” Mr. Sanders 
observed, as they went down the broad hall leading to 
General Bering’s library, or studj’^, which ran the full width 
of the house at the lower end. “ The General was anxious. 
Miss Kent, that you should see Bayright’s plans.” 

“ I shall be glad to look at them,” said Dolly, smiling. 
‘‘ But I don’t think my opinion will be of any value. Build- 
ers’ estimates are Greek to me.” 

‘‘ I believe that there is a question of making a parlor or 
large reception-room where the dining-room was,” observed 
Mr. Sanders deferentially. 

He tapped lightly on the library door, opened it for 
Dolly to enter, and withdrew, leaving the girl alone with 
her guardian. 

The General was seated in his easy-chair before the fire, 
his lame foot on a bench, his stick by him, and his favorite 
dog curled on the hearthrug at his feet. A man of seventy- 
eight, not looking his age by ten years, with a clear-cut 
dark face, snow-white hair and piercing, deeply-set eyes. 
That lie was a man to be respected, but sometimes feared, 
could be told at the first glance ; that he could be loved 
dearly, Dolly well knew ; but the discipline of military life 
and power had made him, as a rule, more arbitrary than 
yielding, while some sad episodes in the past had given him 
a sort of distrust, where he might have had too impulsive 
beliefs. The keen, dark eyes brightened as Dorothy, bloom- 
ing and radiant, came into the room, and when the first 


DOLLY MAKES HER SPECIAL PLEA. 


121 


greetings were exchanged and she had laid aside her wraps, 
he looked at her critically. 

“ So, then, little girl ; you like the country,” he said, 
smiling. 

“ Indeed I do. Cousin Angus ! I wish we were going to 
stay there until after Christmas.” 

“ Ha ! not eager for society ? Why, how’s this, Dor- 
othy ? ” 

“ Oh, there’s a whole lifetime for that,” laughed the girl. 
“ And who can tell when we’ll have a nice long autumn 
up there ? ” 

“Never mind,” said the General. “Mrs. Anderson says 
you must have a party of some kind in the new house,” he 
spoke hurriedly, half-ashamed of the pleasure it afforded 
him to make much of the girl ; but he watched her keenly. 
The fair, unclouded face was so unworldly. Might he not 
better leave her to the country life she really loved ? 

“ You are very good. Cousin Angus,” said Dolly — she 
hesitated a moment — then determined to plunge at once 
into the subject uppermost in her mind. 

“ I wrote you, sir,” she began rather timidly, “ about 
Mrs. Hildreth’s letter to me, and her call. I want very 
much to know what I am to do.” She went on bravely, 
her eyes with all their sweet candor meeting his, and not 
heeding an ominous flash in their depths. “ I am so anx- 
ious, if you will let me, to be kind to them — ” She paused 
a barely perceptible instant, and went on with a heightened 
color. “ Cousin Angus, I can’t tell you how it makes me 
feel to think that I — a stranger, one might say, am in her 
place — that the home she had for years is no longer hers. 
And to think she has been too generous to utter a word of 
reproach. Can I not be her daughter’s friend? May I 
show them some friendly attentions?” 


122 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


Dolly paused, unpleasantly conscious that the General’s 
black eyes had not softened in their expression, and that no 
doubt she was presenting her case very badly indeed. She 
was well aware of his aversion to the Hildreths, yet even 
six months’ residence with the kindly but eccentric old 
man had taught her not to be biased by his opinions of 
people. He was emphatically a man of extremes ; a tri- 
fling prejudice, an act contrary to his special standards, 
a small doubt, weighed with him as larger, graver motives 
would with another, and quick to observe merely social 
laws, and the etiquette of his world, to admit himself in 
the wrong about his private judgments was almost impos- 
sible to the old soldier, and Dolly, having read thus much 
of the harder side of her cousin’s nature, was well aware 
that the task before her had points difficult to contend with. 

“ Did Hannah Hildreth tell you to say all this, Dor- 
othy,” General Bering said at last, in a grave voice. 

“ No, no, sir ; no, indeed,” cried Dolly warmly. “ I 
told you what she wrote, how kind she was — to — to waive 
ceremony when she heard of Honor’s illness. I said to her I 
hoped I might be of some service to Florence and herself.” 

The girl’s whole face, her voice, her manner, was full of 
the gentlest pleading. 

General Bering bent his gaze fixedly upon the glowing 
fire, his hands brought together so that the tips of the fin- 
gers touched, his head sunk upon his breast as he pondered 
deeply over what Dorothy had so bravely, earnestly, put 
before him. Dolly watched him with a swiftly beating 
heart, but of all that was passing in the old officer’s mind 
she could only vaguely guess. It was her first “ good 
work,” thought tlie girl, her first generous use of power ; 
and she longed to reconcile all points of dispute, to put 
him into harmony with those from whom he had so long 


DOLLY MAKES HER SPECIAL PLEA. 


123 


been estranged. Her nature was too vigorous, too whole- 
some, to have her espouse the Hildreths’ cause in any 
quixotic fashion, and she was young enough, and ignorant 
enough of human nature to doubt the success of her gener- 
ous scheme. Too clear-minded not to be well aware that 
intimate relations with the Hildreths would be inadvis- 
able, she yet believed that friendly intercourse might be 
kept up, and as mistress of the house she could serve 
Floy’s interests without injuring those of anybody else. 

As for the General, the review of events years back 
trooped before him as he sat there ; yet, hard as it was to 
realize, he had to admit that something about Dorothy her- 
self had softened his judgments and made him hesitate to 
sweepingly condemn actions and people with whom he per- 
sonally had no sympathy. Might he not gratify Dolly to 
a certain extent, and yet make it clear that a line was to 
be drawn which the Hildreths could not pass ; open hostility 
he certainly did not desire, and perhaps while the}^- were in 
Beckford, at all events, almost like neighbors of Mrs. Hil- 
dreth and her daughter, a certain amount of friendliness 
would prevent what, like all well-bred people, he detested 
— the gossip of ‘Hookers-on.” Assuredly the General’s line 
of reasoning and Dolly’s differed widely, since, as for the 
moment he forgot, a pretense of doing anything was im- 
possible to the girl, and if he met her request even half-way, 
it was highly probable that not only would she regard him 
as acting on the noblest principles, but infuse into her 
generosity toward the Hildreths the very element of sweet- 
ness and good-will his feeling lacked. I am afraid, had 
the General clearly read his ward’s fearless young heart, lie 
would not liave hesitated a moment in saying the barest 
civilities between the Glen and the cottage were all that 
he would permit. 


124 


FOR HONORS SAKE, 


As it was : ‘‘ Dorotliy,” her cousin said, lifting his eyes 
suddenly, “ I w ant you to understand one thing. It’s 
years since my lOuse was Hannah Hildreth’s home ; the 
graves of those I loved best have been made since then. 
F rom time to ti me, as when you first visited me, she has 
been at my hous^> for a few days or weeks, always a self- 
invited guest. " adopting you had nothing to do wdth 
her, nothing to ao with any reason I have to dislike her. 
As for the girl ; I have seldom seen her for more than a 
few minutes at a time since she was as disagreeable a little 
child as I ever h-jard of. I want you to understand one 
thing clearly ; '* ^nly mention it because, if there is to be 
any social inter mrse between you, it is best for you to 
know it ; I prov de for her and Floy to a certain extent 
liberally. Mone to be extravagant upon I will not give. 
Her one claim on me is that she married my wife’s brother — 
poor fellow, I guess he’s glad enough to be in a different 
world. AVhile ]'’ ‘s. Bering lived I would never refuse her 
brother and his wife a home with us. Afterwards — well, 
never mind ; things were different. Poor Hildreth — well — 
now then, little girl, I don’t want you to begin your new 
life with a family quarrel going on ; and so, if you like to 
make friends with Floy — let them come to see you, as other 
acquaintances *ght, mind you. You needn’t take the 
trouble to tell innah I am delighted to see her or any- 
thing of the kin.. — to begin with, she’d know better, and she 
Avouldn’t care ' ‘ow of pins, and one thing I will ask of you 
— keep that g) out of my way as much as you can.” 

Dolly’s thf s were nearly inaudible from her surprise 
and pleasure' / It really seemed as though her guardian 
had bestowe jome unmerited personal favor upon herself, 
and with a sigh of relief she turned quickly to the discus- 
sion of other matters. The Beckford household, the man 


DOLLY MAKES HER SPECIAL ^LEA. 


125 


she had seen in Beck Haven, the new arra»"gement of the 
house here, etc., etc. 

“ I want to have you down here by the firi of November,” 
said the General, “or perhaps earlier. ^'ou will look 
through that house near Mrs. Anderson’s, Hnd I hope you 
will like it. I can take it for the winter ust as it is, and 
Mrs. Hale, of course, will stay with you. 

Holly knew the old man well enough it) oppose none of 
his liberal schemes, and she talked ovei* everything in 
the most satisfactory manner, taking the responsibilities all 
for granted in the way he liked best, a^d at the end of 
another hour, bidding him good-by until f S next morning, 
and going up Fifth Avenue once again, c> iscious that she 
had been successful in her first “missiof* ” and yet by no 
means sure that some difficulties might in-bt arise through 
the fact that her guardian had yielded far in the Hil- 
dreths’ favor. 

alt 

V 


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1 

hi 

Am 


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CHAPTER XVL 


AN UNEXPECTED AKEIVAL. 

Honor was standing in the window of the drawing-room 
at The Glen a few days after Dolly’s departure for New 
York, eagerly watching for Joseph’s return from the post- 
office, where she was sure a long letter from her cousin 
must be waiting for her. In spite of varied occupations, 
none tiring, and all more or less amusing, time had dragged 
since Monday morning, and she was looking forward with 
impatience for word of Dolly’s return. Very soon, as she 
knew, it would be necessary for her to go away to Johns- 
burg, which some way seemed leagues farther from New 
York than it did three years ago, before she had begun 
those journeys in search of health which had grown so 
tiresome. Honor, Mrs. Hale, however, had declared and 
had written to Dolly, looked decidedly better. She slept 
and ate well. Her eyes had lost that feverish, brilliant 
look. The tinge of color in her pretty cheek was more 
healthful. Dr. Gore had assured them that if actual disease 
existed, it was not organic or incurable, and something 
else lent a lightness to the girl’s step, gave an unusual 
softness to her expression, a sweetness to her smile. 

“Oh, Joseph,” Honor exclaimed, as the man finally ap- 
peared, “ I thought you were never coming.” 

She held her hand out eagerly for the letters, sent Mrs. 
Hale’s to her, and then flung herself into a corner of the 
sofa to enjoy Dorothy’s long packet at her leisure. There 
must have been, as she knew, the promised day at Donald 

126 


AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL. 


127 


Fraser’s studio, as well as an inspection of the new house, 
and Honor read the first page, which was all about herself, 
her health, her comfort, etc., hurriedly, anxious to reach 
the part which was of real interest to her. 

“ You will want details, I know,” wrote Dolly, “of the 
afternoon tea at Donald Fraser’s studio. We went down 
there about three o’clock. It is in a fine building, ^ull of 
studios and small suites of rooms. ‘ The boys,’ as Mrs. 
Anderson calls them, have a sort of ‘ apartment ’ of three 
rooms, the central one being the studio, which is large and 
brimful of all sorts of interesting things. Such delightful 
tapestries on one of the walls, such a huge fire-place, 
oak chests and settees, shining dark wood cabinets and 
tall chests of drawers, odd shelves with bits of china on 
tliem, some green Venetian vases, and a small grand 
piano at one side, with the oddest standing lamp near by. 
Alfred’s mother sent it over from Nuremberg. In spite of 
this sounding like the description of a museum, it is a real 
loork-shop — not a bit affected looking, like jmung Paulding’s 
studio in Johnsburg. When we went in, the first thing 
I was aware of was Fraser himself. I had heard so 
much of his being plain looking that I was perfectly sur- 
prised when a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, brown- 
eyed young man, really a trifle like Nona about the e3"es 
and when he smiled, came forward and welcomed us. The 
expression of his face was wonderfully attractive. He has 
a short beard, wears his hair rather closely cropped, con- 
sidering its tendency to ‘bang,’ as Sybil says, on his fore- 
head. His face is rugged and strong and self-reliant. I 
thoroughly like his looks, and although he is very quiet, 
you can see he has enough to say if he chose to express 
himself. He had on a rather shabby velveteen coat, and 
he was smoking a short pipe, which he put down directly 


128 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


we entered. He explained Alfred would appear any mo- 
ment, his business detaining him down town, and presently 
in came the other ‘ boy,’ with that supremely contented, 
self-satisfied' look he wears, you know, wlien he likes the 
way things are happening. I must admit that Donald 
Fraser looked a trifle rougli beside Alfred, although, as we 
both^now, there is nothing ‘finikin’ about our dear old 
comrade. But Alfred, in his gray tweed suit, the carnation 
in his button-hole, his dark face smooth shaven but for the 
mustache, his linen so immaculate, his very eye-glasses so 
polished, was a good foil for Donald’s shabby painting- 
coat, rather rough hair, and generally indifferent manner. 

You couldn’t make him believe,’ Alfred whispered to 
me, ‘ that that old coat is too shabby to wear. He thinks 
it good enough for any occasion.’ 

“ Well, the janitor’s wife brought in some dainties, and we 
had great fun making the tea. They have a delightful 
little service, and a brass kettle, and a wonderful set of 
doyleys ‘ picked up ’ somewhere, and a table-cloth that was 
embroidered in a Spanish convent. 

“Alfred was a delightful host, as 3^ou may fancy, and Mr. 
Fraser and Emily had the greatest amount of cliaff to 
undergo, because they are, it appears, working in some 
terrible down-town district, trying to bring some 3^oung peo- 
ple into ‘ light,’ Alfred sa^^s, by means of amusing them. 
They have entertainments every other week ; Mr. Fraser 
gives a kind of lecture ; he sketches things to illustrate it 
in charcoal, and presents the pictures to various members 
of the audience who have attended regularly ; there is 
music, a nice supper, and a good time genera^. I con- 
clude it is all right, since Mrs. Anderson approves, and 
Emmie promises I shall help her. From the way Alfred 
talked, I supposed he scorned the whole thing, and so you 


AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL. 


129 


may fancy I was surprised when Mr. Fraser told me none 
of their entertainments had been so successful as the ones 
Alfred had helped manage, and he begged me to encourage 
his assisting them still further, which you must help me to 
do, for I feel sure Alfred thinks a great deal of your opinion. 
He has the same half preoccupied manner we noticed when 
he was in Beckford, but I judge it is some business care. 
His mother and sister will be home early in the Spring, but 
I scarcely think it will break up his rooming with Mr. 
Fraser, as they will go to some hotel, Mrs. Anderson says, 
for the few weeks they are to be in town. 

“ Now about our new abode. It is a corner house — wide 
and roomy — each side of the main hallway are double rooms, 
and the dining-room runs across the back. These rooms 
are furnished beautifully — on one side are drawing-room 
and a sort of ante-room, with a tiny conservatory leading 
from it, and also opening into the dining-room — on the 
opposite side is a fine library and a room back suitable for 
the General’s study, a side-door also leading into the dining- 
room. Can you picture it ? The hall is wide and not very 
long, and the staircase comes prettily to the next story, 
where are five rooms. The front one, over the drawing- 
room, I design for our sanctum. It is charmingly done in 
blue and white Indian silk hangings — furniture in the same 
flowered pattern — some light satin-wood cabinets, tables, 
and bookcase. The General says I may have a little piano 
up here, and I already foresee the charm of our “gloam- 
ing ” hours in this lovely room. The others are sleeping 
and dressing-rooms — all very luxurious in their appoint- 
ments — and the two stories above are similarly arranged. 
I own to a regret that we are not to stay longer at Beckford, 
but the General promises we shall spend Christmas there, 
and I think I can persuade him not to have the large party 
9 


130 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


he wants to give me down here, hut let us enjoy a Christ- 
mas dance at The Glen. 

“ Now, dear little Honor bright, are you taking care of 
yourself? Alfred declares it’s nonsense to call you an in- 
valid. He is anxious, and so are the Andersons, that you 
and Aunt Jule should stay in New York all winter for that 
wonderful oxygen treatment, whatever it is, of the doctor’s, 
and I mean to write your mother and father both about it,” 
etc., etc. Another page was devoted to household matters, 
inquiries about every one at the River House, winding up 
with a promise that Dolly would be with them on Saturday 
night. 

Honor re-read the letter, and then leaned back among 
the sofa pillows, pondering on all that the New York win- 
ter would mean to her, if only it could be managed. 
Surely her mother might be brought to see that it would 
mean, health, happiness to her. And with a sudden rush 
of feeling the girl thought of Dolly’s generous, unselfish 
seeking for her. Honor’s, good — her comfort and pleasure 
in everything — and a sigh of very thankfulness passed her 
lips, that if she “dreamed dreams ” of future content, they 
could in no wise alfeet her cousin’s peace of mind. Impos- 
sible, reflected Honor, that Dolly could have answered her 
questions last week so freely, so calmly, if there lurked any 
hidden sentiment in her untrammeled heart. 

The sound of a vigorous step on the gravel walk startled 
her, and going near the window Honor saw a stranger com- 
ing with a resolute manner toward the house. An elderly 
lady, tall as a grenadier, with a highly-colored rather 
handsome face, snapping black eyes, very black hair, and a 
general air of alertness, vigor, and resolution. Clinging to 
her wide skirts and nearly enveloped in them, was a very 
small child with an old-fashioned little face showing 


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6 


AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL. 


131 


beneath the flapping brim of a broad straw hat, from which 
streamers of narrow brown ribbon depended. Her little 
figure was a comical contrast to the lady’s : slie wore a 
very tight jacket, and very full short skirt, white cotton 
stockings, and patent leather slippers tied around the ankle, 
while in one hand she carried a plaid silk parasol, which 
she was obliged to let trail after her, as she kept step with 
the tall lady who paid not the least attention, it would seem 
to her, but marched toward the hall-door where she gave 
the bell a vigorous peal ; Honor meanwhile overcome with 
amusement, was trying to compose her countenance to 
receive the strange visitor with dignity or at least outward 
calm. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


MISS MARSTON INTRODUCES HERSELF. 

XoTHiNG, it appeared, could disturb Simms’s repose ol 
manner. Without moving a muscle he ushered the queer- 
looking pair into the drawing-room — murmured “Miss 
Marston,” and withdrew. 

Honor came forward smiling and holding out her hand. 

“ My dear,” said Miss Marston in an energetic, but not 
unpleasant voice, and sinking into the largest easy-chair. 
“ I don’t doubt you are surprised to see me.” She darted 
a look at the small child, wdio was staring at Honor. 
“ Anna Maria,” she continued in chilling tones, and with a 
withering glance, “ sit down at once and stop staring. 
As Anna Maria, assisted by Honor, obeyed the first injunc- 
tion, the lady continued. “ I presume I will take every one 
by surprise. I arrived this morning — went to my brother’s 
house,” she nodded in the direction of the Marstons’, “ and 
found everybody out,” she slapped her knee vigorously. “ I 
say everybody, for I do not take into account a red-haired 
and exceedingly impertinent servant I found there. Anna 
Maria, turn your head the other way, if you can’t stop star- 
ing.” 

“I want a drink of water,” remarked Anna Maria. 

“A drink of water !” exclaimed Miss Marston, in tones 
Honor thought ought to terrify the thirstiest of Anna 
Marias. “You would drink the waters of the river Jordan. 
Lethe wouldn’t satisfy you. Thanks — ” as Honor touched 

132 


3IIS8 MABSTOJ!^ INTRODUCES HERSELF. 133 

the bell and sent for water. “ You, I presume, are Miss 
Kent?” 

“ I am ITonora Kent,” said Honor, repressing a wild 
desire to laugh, and wishing Dolly only could be present. 
“ Miss Kent is my cousin.” 

“I understand. Well, Miss Honora, I have intended 
for a year past visiting my brother, but it is no five 
minutes’ journey from Omaha, I assure you ; especially with 
Anna Maria. A child constantly demanding something ! 
Eager for food and drink, information — culture in fact. At 
the last I had to come hurriedly, and I presume my brother 
did not receive my letter.” 

“ I heard nothing of it,” said Honor. All this time Miss 
Marston’s bright black eyes had scarcely moved from 
Honor’s face. But snapping as they were, there was cer- 
tainly nothing unkindly in their expression, even when 
they had flashed such a terrible look upon Anna Maria. 

“ I want sugar in it and a straw,” observed Anna Maria, 
who had only half-finished her glass of water, “ like the 
man’s at Pittsburg.” 

“ Horrible child ! ” exclaimed Miss Marston. “ A person 
at the Pittsburg depot sowed the seeds of intemperance in 
this innocent child. I was compelled to assure her his 
g-i-n,’” spelling it out in a whisper, “was sugar and 
water, get a straw for her and some sugar, and allow her 
to go through the process she had been watching ; but not 
again — no, never again ! ” 

There was a brief pause, and Miss Marston resumed : 

“ I came over here hoping to find some of the family, 
or to learn something of them. Euch a house ! I spent 
half an hour going over it.” (“ Poor Kona ! ” thought 
Honor.) “ Wildernesses and the jungle must be orderly, 
compared to it. One of, I presume, my brother’s shirts 


134 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


was tied to tlie banisters upstairs ; some child had been 
playing with it ; tacks and a hammer were lying on the 
hall carpet ; the sideboard in the dining-room was broken 
down, and I tripped over a piece of torn carpet in the 
parlor, and went head first nearly into the grate fire.” 

‘‘ She ’most burned up,” said the dauntless Anna Maria. 

“ Fire at this season is an absurdity,” proclaimed Miss 
Marston. “ My unfortunate brother ! But, my dear, I 
will take things in hand. I judge they may need more 
however than a mere willing pair of hands. Well, we 
shall see. I presume you cannot tell me where I will find 
my nieces ? ” 

Honor could not, and as Miss Marston rose to take leave, 
she said quickly : 

“ You really have some lunch with us. Miss Mar- 
ston ; perhaps the girls will be out all day, and nothing 
will be ready over there.” 

“ I expected you to ask me,” returned Miss Marston 
promptly, resuming her chair and untying her crimson 
bonnet-strings. “ By the way, my dear, I am an old friend 
of Mrs. Hale, who, I understand, is Miss Kent’s com- 
panion.” 

Honor, thankful to escape, flew oif in search of Mrs. 
Hale, who listened calmly while Honor graphically de- 
scribed their unexpected guest. 

“Well, I declare!” she exclaimed. “It is years since 
I saw Jane Marston. Yes, she is the oddest sort of a 
beiilg in some ways ; but Honor, do you know, I believe 
her coming here will be a Godsend to the family. She is 
a wonderful manager. If they can overlook her eccen- 
tricities, they will find reason to be ver^/ grateful to her, I 
am sure.” 


MISS MABSTOJSf INTRODUCES HERSELF. 


135 


“ And who is Anna Maria ? ” inquired Honor, still too 
much amused to be calm. 

“ It must be her nephew George’s child,” said Mrs. 
Hale, smiling. “ His wife’s name was Anna Maria, and I 
heard she and he were both dead. I presume Jane is 
bringing tliis child up.’' 

The greeting between the old friends was decidedly 
characteristic. Mrs. Hale was one of tliose quiet little 
women whom nothing could outwardly disturb ; her fresh 
fair face, abundant, wavy gray hair, her trim, perfectly 
well-dressed figure, the plump white hands, were in strik- 
ing contrast to Miss Marston’s large frame, florid coloring, 
and rather conspicuous attire ; while the sweet, calm cord- 
iality of the one was as different from the enthusiastic 
vigor of the other as their externals, and it was Miss 
Marston who took the initiative in the conversation, to 
which Honor listened, keenly amused, and foreseeing a 
great deal of “ fun ” to be had out of this new turn in the 
River House domestic life. What would Nona and Win- 
nie say, she wondered. And Fred — the fastidious, hyper- 
critical Frederick ! While the two elderly ladies were ex- 
changing notes as to the events of the past ten years. 
Honor, compassionating Anna Maria, took the child across 
the room and entertained her with Dolly’s largest album ; 
amused, herself, by the very quaint unabashed manner in 
which this young person expressed her opinions. When 
her voice became too loud Miss Marston suddenly turned 
upon her. 

“ What is golden ? ” demanded Miss Marston briefly. 

“ Silence,” rejoined Anna Maria. 

‘‘ Then maintain it,” said her aunt, returning to the con- 
versation with Mrs. Hale, and entirely ignoring the fact 


136 


FOR UONOR’S SAKE. 


that her small niece’s chatter went on, although in more 
moderate tones. 

Luncheon was served in a few moments, and Miss Mars- 
ton’s gaze swept the table as she took her seat, approval in 
every line of her face. 

‘‘ Excellent taste,” she announced. “ I thoroughly en- 
joy seeing things well done. Anna Maria, don’t bow your 
head unless you hear Grace said. That shows you do not 
understand what it means. A parrot could be taught a 
mere gesture. Thanks,” as Simms handed broiled chicken 
and salad. “ I am glad,” she continued, “ that at least my 
unfortunate brother’s family can have the benefit of a good 
example at this home. But oA, what a task before me ! I 
shall begin at the garret or the cellar; in any case progress 
steadily and surely up, or down. Tons of soapine or ivor- 
ine or any other substance will be required, but the work 
shall go on.” 

“I am sure* you will regulate everything, Jane,” said 
Mrs. Hale in her pleasantly modulated voice. “You were 
always such a capital housekeeper, I remember. And now 
that we are talking,! presume confidentially ” — Simms, after 
deftly preparing Anna Maria’s lunch, had withdrawn — “ I 
might tell you that Miss Kent — the General’s ward, you 
know, who is really mistress of the house here — is most 
anxious to be of material service to the girls ; you know 
though how difficult it sometimes is to render the right 
kind of assistance.” 

Honor’s face expressed her quick sympathy with what 
Mrs. Hale was saying, and Miss Marston, looking from one 
to the other, exclaimed in her most resolute voice : 

“ I shall see that no false pride interferes with any sug- 
gestions made. What use are one’s riches, if not to dis- 
pense ? No, indeed. Thank you, my dear Phoebe, for 


MISS MARSTON INTROD UGES HERSELF. 1 3 7 

telling me of this. I will look around, decide what is 
needed, and not shirk my dut}^, you may be sure. A friend 
in Omaha came to me, as we were starting, with a half- 
worn green silk dress. ‘ Are you above accepting this for 
one of your nieces ? ’ she inquired. ‘ W hy should I be above 
it ? ’ I demanded. ‘ There is equity in your giving and my 
taking it. You do not need it, my nieces probably do.’ I 
thanked her, of course, but I repeat, why above what is 
merely equity ? For example. I observe that the parlor 
carpet is dangerous to human life. We will suppose that 
Miss Kent offers to replace it with a new one. Shall I 
hesitate to accept it? Not at all.” 

When, an hour later. Miss Marston, with Anna Maria 
again clinging to her ample skirts, and trailing the large 
parasol, had departed in the direction of the River House, 
Honor gave way to uncontrollable laughter, calming down, 
however, as she remarked that, to judge from certain 
opinions their guest had expressed, Dolly might find herself 
imposed upon. 

“ I hardly think so,” rejoined Mrs. Hale, with a quiet 
smile. “ You may think she is lacking in delicacy from the 
way she spoke, but I don’t believe she would go too far ; 
and she certainly will simplify matters greatly when Dolly 
wants to do anything.” 

‘‘ But oh, Mrs. Hale, wonH she be a dreadful neighbor ! ” 
declared Honor. 

I don’t think so ; we must wait and see.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


NO “ FALSE PRIDE.” 

The first visitor from the River House, after ‘‘Aunt 
Jane’s” arrival, was Winnie. She rushed over in the even- 
ing, breathless, excited, indignant, and yet full of suppressed 
laughter. 

“ Oh, Miss Honor ! ” she exclaimed. “ I’ve slipped out. 
I couldn’t wait. Poor Nona is undergoing martyrdom. 
Father is locked up in his study, the children are absolutely 
quelled, if you’ll believe it, and Mary Anne is packing her 
trunk to leave.” 

“ But what has happened ? ” asked Honor, laughing. 

“ VVhj^ — everything. Aunt Jane says it’s high time she 
came on, and to-morrow she declares she means to begin 
thorough house-cleaning ; and, of course, you’ve only to 
look at her to know she’ll do it. She declares if she’d 
known how we lived she’d have been here a year ago.” 

“ And what c’oes Fred say,” inquired Honor. 

“ Aa/ O the queerest thing !” exclaimed Winnie. He 
is perfect. y delighted. Agrees with every word she says, 
and promises to help her every way he can.” 

“ And Nona ? ” 

“ Well,' it’s queer,” said Winnie. “ Nona seems to think 
the house-cleaning idea good too — only she doesn’t like 
some of the things Aunt Jane has been saying.” Winnie 
broke off, coloring redly and looking confused. Honor 
guessed at what she implied, and hastened to say calmly : 

“ Your Aunt Jane seems to me, Winnie, to have very 
sensible views, and I hope you won’t interfere with them.” 

138 


NO ‘^FALSE pride: 


139 


‘‘ Oh, do you think so ? ” said Winnie anxiously. She 
fidgeted around in her chair, longing to say more, and yet 
not knowing just what she ought to do. True, Honor was 
not Dolly ; it might be safe to confide in her. But Winnie 
was perfectly well aware that her desire to do so was 
merely from a natural tendeiuiv to chatter. However, the 
temptation w'as too strong to resist. 

“ Why, Miss Honor,” she hurst out with finally. ‘‘ You 
see Aunt Jane has been telling Nona she has false pride, 
and all that sort of thing. She said she had brought her 
an old green silk dress some one gave her, and Nona flashed 
out — it was after Aunt Jane had talked about accepting 
things from — from other people — and said she did’nt care 
for it.” 

Winifred paused a moment, but as Honor said nothing, 
she continued : 

“ Then Aunt Jane went and got it out of her trUi k.” 
Winnie giggled — ‘‘Oh, Miss Honor, if you cow/c? have .seen 
it. The most hideous thing,” said Winnie, screwing up 
her eyes in horror ; “ apple green with a great yellow plaid 
on it. Poor Nona ! ” 

“But you said she refused it,” langhefl Honor. .She 
could perfectly imagine Miss Jane overwhelming. ier’.> iece 
with the dreadful silk. 

“ Oh, but you see — that’s just like Nona ! When she 
saw what a ‘ terror ’ it was, of course she was afraid of hurt- 
ing Aunt Jane’s feelings, and slie accepted it most humbly. 
I’d have pitched it into the fire.” 

Honor smiled gently. 

“ Yes,” she said, greatly pleased. “ It was like Nona.” 
She hesitated a moment and then said suddenly : “ By tlie 
way, Winnie, I wonder if she’d give it to me. I have a i 
excellent use for it. You know that silk coverlet I am 


140 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


making — it will be just the thing for a lining. It is just 
what I want.” 

“Oil, of course she’d give it to you,” said Winnie cheer- 
fully. “And Aunt Jane can’t object because — ” another 
mortifying stammer and violent blush, as poor Winnie 
with her usual heedlessness was rushing on to dangerous 
ground. 

“ Can you come over for a little while to-morrow, do you 
suppose ? ” she said in a moment. “ Nona told me to beg 
you would.” 

“ Dorothy will be back,” said Honor, “ and as soon as 
she arrives I’ll get her to go over with me. Don’t forget 
to tell Nona about the silk,” she added, as Winnie w^as re- 
luctlantly leaving. Visits to The Glen still had their charm, 
half romantic, half mysterious — wholly delightful for the 
IVlarstons ; and even to sit in the lovely drawing-room 
afforded little Winnie keen delight. It was also a source of 
unmixed joy to talk of such to Mary Neil ; Mary who had 
never penetrated further than the drawing-room — who had 
only made that one formal call with her mother, and who 
sighed longingly to be on the terms of almost intimacy with 
the Kents which existed between the River House girls 
and the cousins at The Glen. 

Dolly arrived punctuallythe next day at two o’clock ; and, 
while she ate her lunch. Honor described “Aunt Jane” and 
Anna Maria “who demanded” food, drink, information, 
and culture,” while travelling, in a w^ay that nearly sent 
Dorothy into hysterics. 

“ What age is Anna Maria ?” she asked, when she could 
calm down. 

“ Oh, about six, I should say. Dolly, shan’t we go over 
now — and donH forget to back me up about the green 
silk.” 


NO ^NALSE pride:' 


141 


‘‘That was a happy thought,” said Dolly. “And, you 
know, going down to New \ ork afforded me an excellent 
chance to bring the girls some presents. Let’s look at 
them first.” 

Dolly’s trunk had been opened by Jane, the maid, and 
she displayed to Honor’s satisfaction two pretty pieces of 
silk : one navy blue, for Nona ; the other a soft pale brown 
for Winifred. 

“ They canH mind taking them,” she said, as she wrapped 
them up and prepared to go with Honor to the River House. 
“And I have some small things for the children.” 

Aunt Jane’s “house-cleaning” had begun in earnest. 
Everything was turned up-side down. In the parlor, a 
woman hired from the village was busy scrubbing the floor, 
from which the carpet had been taken up, while the dining- 
room was full of furniture in a condition more or less 
broken down and disabled. In the midst of the chaos Miss 
Marston’s tall, commanding figure, and highly colored, 
handsome face was to be seen, her voice to be heard issu- 
ing directions and commenting on everything in tones of 
proud authority, while Nona, pale and tired-looking, but 
evidently glad to have any “cleaning ’’going on, was acting 
“ under obedience,” her skirt turned up, a cap on her pretty 
hair, and a kitchen apron with two big rents in it tied 
round her waist. Winifred was wildly polishing some 
furniture in the hall. 

“ Miss Kent, and Miss Honor,” exclaimed Miss Marston, 
coming forward with an heroic manner. Now you see 
we are working in earnest. I am determined something 
shall be clean for Sunday. We will finish the parlor and 
straighten up the dining-room. My only regret is the car- 
pet. Where to replace those rags ! Now, my dear girl,” 
as Dolly lifted a most sympathetic pair of eyes to her, 


142 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


‘‘are you making any changes in your lioiise? You might 
dispose of a carpet to excellent advantage.” 

Dolly, assuming not to see Nona’s glance of entreaty, and 
remembering that certainly Miss Marston, as sister to the 
head of the house, was really in authority, made a brief, 
low-voiced suggestion which pleased Miss Jane immensely. 

“ Now then, Nona,” she declared, “ I told you I would 
give Miss Kent credit for good sense. It appears she is 
pulling up a big room upstairs at The Glen, and intended 
banishing the carpet to the attic. A good brussels, too. 
My dear girl,” she continued, smiling brightly upon Dolly, 
“ I know you understand the situation, and here j^our car- 
pet will be of use — not where the moth and rust can destroy 
and corrupt ” — Miss Jane reveled in such similes, and what 
she considered “ quotations ” — “ as would be the case if 3’ou 
only sent it to your garret ” 

Nona was silenced, and Dolly entered at once wdth a 
matter-of-course manner into the question of the carpet and 
sundry minor matters with Miss Jane. A chance came for 
bestowing her gifts on the girls, and sometliing was said 
about “ making use ” of Dolly’s Jane for cutting and fitting 
any time they liked. 

“ I assure you,” said Dorothy, “ she is a perfect treasure 
in such matters, and really just now has very little to do.” 

Altogether, if there was something a trifle embarrassing 
about offering the carpet, etc., to Miss Marston, there was a 
satisfaction in her hearty acquiescence and entire freedom 
from anything like what she called “ false pride,” and as 
Honor remarked when they were at home again, it would 
be a great comfort to the whole household to see things for 
once in thorough order. 

Fortune certainly favored Miss Jane’s good-natured de- 
signs. Mr. Marston, whom she never intended should know 


JVO ^‘FALSE PRIDE: 


143 


more than could be helped about favors offered and accepted, 
was called away on business early Monday morning, and 
remained the entire week. Fred lunched with friends, or 
in the village, so that the house was entirely free of any 
formalities from early in the morning until the evening, and 
Miss Jane carried out her design of going through every 
room, from garret to cellar. 

The result, with Dolly’s adroitly managed assistance, was 
so satisfactory that even Winifred declared it would be 
worth while to force herself into tidy ways ; and Nona, in 
spite of various twinges of mortification when her aunt 
made such open suggestions to Dolly, could not but feel 
everything and everybody in the household would be better 
for the change. Dolly, who had been arranging her “ sanc- 
tum,” had a good excuse to offer pretty lace curtains for the 
parlor, and various pieces of furniture, at least able to stand 
up or be used without danger. The carpet suited admirably ; 
some tasteful brackets, a new bookcase and little Davenport 
found their way into the room ; while it was real enjoyment 
to Dolly to help re-arrange the small adjoining bedrooms 
which Nona and Winifred occupied. A piece of dotted 
muslin, pale pink and blue silesias for lining, and some 
knots of satin ribbon made windows, dressing tables, and 
bureau dainty, and some cretonnes which harmonized, well 
cushioned easy chairs, pine pillows of Chinese silks giving 
a final touch which Winifred declared made her feel like 
idling in the rockers, where they were hung, all day. 

Mr. Marston’s satisfaction could be relied upon — and as 
well, he could be counted upon for not being certain that 
the new carpet or furniture were gifts. His sister was very 
well aware that she must be silent on this point, and what- 
ever Fred’s construction he saw nothing. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


HONOR, ‘‘the sceptic.” 

Honor Kent was sitting alone in the drawing-room of 
General Bering’s new abode in New York. The clock on 
the mantel had chimed nine o’clock, and to Honor it seemed 
as though she had been three hours instead of one by lier- 
self. Not that solitude at times was unwelcome to her, 
but it had been a trial to watch Dolly and the Andersons 
go away to the opera, and know that she must remain at 
home because on such a night it was not prudent to ven- 
ture out. True, she was wonderfully improved in health. 
They had only been three weeks in New York and Dr. 
Anderson’s treatment had seemed to act like magic, but 
the delicacy, the susceptibility to cold, remained ; and when 
a snow storm arose, and the air grew sharp and raw to- 
gether, Honor had seen for herself that it would not do to 
tempt fate even by driving to the Opera House in a close 
carriage, and so she had resigned herself to an evening 
alone with a new book, had read steadily for an hour and 
a half, and how, leaning back in her easy chair before the 
lire, gazed into the glowing coals and thought over the 
events of the past four weeks since they had left Beckford 
and taken up their new residence in New York. 

The house was found to be all that could be desired ; 
Dolly’s housekeeping was an easy matter with a corps of 
well-trained servants and Mrs. Hale to fill any gap. The 
near neighborhood of the Andersons was a constant source 
of satisfaction, while Honor could not help enjoying the 

144 


HONOR, “ THE SCEPTIC. 


145 


sense of luxury, the feeling that all their visitors paid her, 
as well as Dolly, the kind of homage which worldlings 
invariably give favorites of fortune ; and already invita- 
tions were too numerous to be accepted, and Dorothy was, 
a trifle against her will, being drawn into what Alfred 
Thorndyke laughingly called the “ dizzy whirl.” Honor was 
well aware that next week, when her mother and father 
came down from John sburg, there would have to be a 
break in this smooth, charmed existence. If it was de- 
cided that she should remain all winter under Dr. Ander- 
son’s care, then Mrs. Kent preferred taking board some- 
where near by ; not that she objected to Honor’s being a 
frequent guest at General Bering’s, but to begin anything 
like a permanent arrangement, even for the winter, “Aunt 
Jule ” declared to be out of the question. Mrs. Kent would 
remain as long as she could in New York, and after that 
it would be time enough to see how Honor could be dis- 
posed of for the rest of the season. But some days of 
happy companionship with Dolly still remained, and on the 
other hand Honor was really longing to see and be near 
her mother. The two months’ separation had tried them 
both : not that Honor was given to the full confldences 
which once were so freely exchanged between Dolly and 
her mother, but there was a sense that a peculiar kind of 
irritation, or personal discomfort, which had tormented her 
of late would vanish in her mother’s presence. It always 
did, although no one seemed to be aware of its existence 
except herself. Honor walked over to the window front- 
ing Fifth Avenue, and parting the heavy curtains, looked 
out upon the wintry storm-driven street. The gas-lartips 
flickered on the white pavement, the houses opposite were 
faintly outlined in the eddying flakes and heavy mists, and 
Honor found herself mechanically watching the red light 
10 


146 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


of a Hansom cab as it seemed to fly around their corner, 
liardly realizing that it had come to a sharp halt before the 
door, that a tall figure in an ulster had sprung out and was 
hastening up the four short steps to the hall-door. The elec- 
tric bell was noiseless, but Simms came down the corridor. 
Honor heard the door opened, a familiar voice speaking ; 
and as she turned, the curtains were drawn back, and Alfred 
Thorndyke came into the room. 

Honor was ashamed of herself for blushing with pleasure 
as she greeted him. He had been absent from New York 
on business ever since they came down, and while she knew 
he was expected home to-day, she had not the least idea of 
his coming at this hour to the house. 

“All alone !”’he exclaimed, as he took Honor’s quickly 
outstretched hand and gazed down with friendly kindness 
into the lovely, flushed face before him. “ Where is our 
fair chatelaine ?” 

“ They are all at the opera,” Honor explained. “ Have 
you just arrived ? ” 

“ Yes ; and, as I had an important message for the 

General, I came here direct from the depot. Ah ” 

flinging himself into an easy-chair and holding out his 
hands to the generous blaze, “ this is comfortable ! ” His 
keen glance rested again upon Honor, who had seated her- 
self on an ottoman at the side of the hearth, and w^as look- 
ing well pleased at the prospect of a quiet talk with him. 
“You need not pretend you are an invalid any longer,” he 
continued. “ Why, even Dolly can’t put your roses to 
shame. Honor.” 

The girl laughed brightly. 

“ I am a complete ‘ cure ’ ! ” she declared. “ I offered 
your uncle yesterday my photograph and a detailed account 
of past symptoms and present vigor, for publication if he 


HONOR, “ THE SCEPTIC:' 


147 


liked. He might make well out of it. However he said 
he’d wait until I was able to be on exhibition in his office.” 

‘‘ That would be best. Well, so you and Dorothy are 
actually in the vortex — New York society ‘ buds ! ’ ” 
His glance swept the beautiful, luxurious room, with its air 
of elegance, modern fashions, “ fads ” of the hour in bric- 
a-brac, coloring, candlelight from sconces on the walls and 
tall stands, the glow of a lamp from a tall Eastern stand 
and pale pink globe with dull-bued traceries, lighting up 
the rich colors in door and window drapeiy, shining on the 
polished floor and Persian rugs ; the few, but rare pictures 
on the walls, the inner room with its musical instruments, 
and somber tones, set off by the background of the conser- 
vatory where the faint trickling and splashing of a tiny 
fountain spray, tossed among the palms by a marble water 
sprite, gave out a soothing musical sound. “ So this is 
Dorothy’s home,” he continued. “ Well, I wonder 
whether she will drift into and with the current ? It is 
strong enough to bear many a stouter heart along.” 

“ What do you mean?” said Honor quickly, a remem- 
brance of that twilight talk at Beckford about Thorndyke’s 
“ worldliness ” coming back tb her. “ Are you afraid she is 
going to be only a society exotic, as Dr. Anderson calls 
it?” 

“ No, no ; I want to see her try it all ; but tell me, how 
do you and she spend the time ? What has been happening ? 
Fraser’s letters have been all ‘ shop.’ ” 

“ I can’t begin to enumerate everything,” said Honor, 
with a light sigh. “ I only know there is never half time 
enough for anything. We had such a nice two weeks at 
Beckford before we came down. But directly we were 
here it seemed as if everything had to be rushed. Dolly 
is always up early ; luckily it’s an old habit of hers. She 


148 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


generally breakfasts alone, or with Mrs. Hale ; for the 
General has a tray in his room, and I don't pretend to 
appear before nine o’clock. She and I go off to the riding 
school then with the Andersons for about two hours, then 
Dolly has housekeeping matters. She reads a little to the 
General, talks over her invitations, etc., and if we are liome 
in the afternoon there are always people here. If you look 
in any afternoon about five o’clock, you will find us drink- 
ing tea and talking of things eartliily earthy.” 

“ So — and — this is all ? ” 

“ Is it not enough ? ” laughed Honor. She paused a 
moment and said with sudden thought, “oh, you must ask 
Emily and Dolly about what I call their secret mission ! 
They go off to some dreadful place in the slums, and 
amuse the people, as well as I can make out. I asked them 
the other day if they thought of joining the Salvation 
Arm}^, and Emily said they hadn’t quite decided as yet — 
she’d give me fair warning. Sybil declares she and Dolly 
are practicing on the tambourine in secret.” 

Alfred laughed. 

“ I know the place they go to. Honor, we must take 
them by surprise on one of their gala nights. Don’t hint we 
mean to do it.” 

“ Delightful ! ” declared Honor, with sparkling eyes. 
“ Next Tuesday' I believe something very festive is to take 
place down there. If they invite us, let us scornfully de- 
cline and then surprise them.” 

The plan was laid, details decided upon, and then Alfred 
observed that he must leave a written line for the General 
or appoint an early hour for seeing him in the morning. 

“ Do that ” said Honor. “Then you can lunch with us 
perhaps. Mr. Fraser will be here.” 


HONOR, “ THE SCEPTIC. 


149 


“ Fraser ! By tlie way, how do you like him ? ” 

Honor screwed her pretty mouth up for a moment as she 
considered the question. 

“ He is one of Dolly’s ‘ swans,’ ” she said at last. 

“ And you always look out for goose-quills in such, I be- 
lieve.” 

Yes ; but really I don’t doubt he is very nice, when 
you get to know him.” 

“ I shouldn’t have thought old Fraser hard to see 
through,” said Thorndyke thoughtfully. “ Still, tliere is 
an outer crust hard for some people to break through.” 

The pink in Honor’s cheeks deepened. 

“ People like myself,” she said quietly. “ To tell you the 
truth, I hare an uncomfortable feeling with him that he is 
always reading you and searching your very innermost 
thoughts. Now if there is one thing I feel a person has 
the sole right and title to, it is their inner sentiments.” 

“ Then, what you let your friends and the world have 
must only be the surface,” said Alfred, with his quiet smile. 

“ Ah, no ; not quite. But there are things — sentiments, 
ideas, feelings, I can’t express it — which belong wholly 
to one’s self and no one has a right to probe for them.” 

“You are showing me Donald in a new light,” observed 
Alfred gravely. “ I never fancied he was an inquisitor in 
the least ; but perhaps that is because he and I have been 
so uncommonly frank and confidential. And how do he 
and Dorothy get on ? ” 

Honor smiled. 

“ Admirably. You should hear them analyzing and dis- 
secting everything under the sun, moon, and stars. I 
verily believe they have decided just what all the human 
race have been, ought to be, and are. I needn’t inform 


150 


FOn HONOR'S SAKE. 


you that Mr. Fraser has certain ideas as to how this world 
could be made into Arcadia.” 

“I know ! ” rejoined Alfred, keenly amused. 

“ Well, he and Dolly discuss all this just as if it were 
matter-of-fact. You know what a wholesale belief in 
people and things she has ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, very well.” 

“So these two go on moonshining as I call it, and they 
get as earnest and enthusiastic as if — ” she paused, her lips 
curving with a touch of scorn in their smile. 

“As if,” said Alfred gravely, “there really was some- 
thing good in human nature ! Honor, what a terrible 
little sceptic you are, child ! ” 

The exquisite, flowerlike face before him flushed, almost 
as if with pain. Honor averted her eyes quickly. 

“ Am I ? ” she said, in a low tone. “ Yes, I suppose so. I 
don’t know why^ Alfred ; unless it is my very nature ; for 
have I not all my life had reason to trust and believe in 
everything? See how good every one has always been to 
me.” Her voice trembled and Alfred, who Tvas standing 
by the mantle now, in his favorite attitude, wished she 
would raise her eyes that he might read her meaning more 
clearly in their bright blue depths. “ Your friend Donald,” 
she went on a trifle hurriedly, “ took me to task about this 
the other day. Do you know what he said ? ” Her face 
was lifted now ; it was very pale and almost stern in ex- 
pression. “ That my trouble was a lack of faith in the 
first principles. ‘You doubt “things unseen he said to 
me in that resolute voice of his, ‘ and therefore things seen 
are wrongly judged, falsely estimated.’ ” 

Alfred was silent. 

“ Honor,” he said at last, a curious melancholy coming 


HONOR, “ THE SCEPTIC. 


151 


into his eyes and tlie slow smile Avhicli crossed his face, 
“Fraser was right; but I should not preach to you; I 
understand it only too well.” 

It was hard for a moment to resume their former light 
tone, but presently Alfi-ed inquired : 

“ And our friends the Hildreths ? What of them ? ” 

“ Oh,” exclaimed Honor eagerly. “ I am so glad you 
reminded me ! You know Dolly is to have a large party 
at Beckford Christmas time, and then she intends, she says, 
to ‘ bring Floy forward.’ ” 

“Indeed. Well, do you know those people affect me 
like dark clouds on a fair horizon ; no bigger than a man’s 
hand, but sweeping on, steadily, slowly. There is a thing 
really to doubt, to dread. I cannot approve of Dorothy’s 
being intimate with them.” 

“Kor I ; but we both know what any idea that she is 
ungenerous does with Dolly. Mrs. Hildreth is a woman of 
mysteries. I am sure of it. Nothing seems some way to 
iit in what she does. Even the fuss they make over Fred 
Marston — I feel sure it is from some motive he doesn’t sus- 
pect.” 

“ I have long thought so,” observed Alfred calmly. 

“ By the wa^q you know that Mr. Marston’s sister — such 
a peculiar woman — is keeping house for them now, and she 
thinks Master Frederick perfection. She is very friendly 
with the Hildreths, and encourages him, I am sure, in keep- 
ing up with them. I don't believe there is a grain of 
hypocrisy in her ; and she is, for all her funny ways, a very 
shrewd woman, so it must be that she believes in them.” 

“ I must go to Beckford on business in a day or two,” 
said Alfred, after a moment’s reflection. “ And I think 
ril make a polite call at the Cottage.” 


152 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


The sound of wheels, the stopping of a carriage outside, 
was heard, then Simms’s step in the hall ; as the door was 
opened Dolly’s voice could be heard in clear gay tones 
flinging back “ good-nights ” to some one in the carriage, 
and a moment later the portiere moved back, and Dorothy, 
radiant, lovely, joyous looking, came into the room, the 
General and Mrs. Hale following. 


CHAPTER XX. 


“how can you ask me such a question?” 

It was the first time Alfred had seen Dorothy in even- 
ing dress — and with the air of a girl “ in society,” and for 
an instant he could only look in silence, taking in this new 
impression of his old “ comrade.” And Dorothy had never 
looked fairer. Her dress of simple-fashioned white gauze, 
nearly high to the throat, the round fair young arms visible 
through the fleecy fabric, the jeweled bracelets spark- 
ling upon them, the crimson roses drooping, but still richly 
colored, in her belt, the cloak of white plush and feather trim- 
ming which was flung back from her shoulders, all conveyed 
the impression of elegance, distinction, luxury which 
belonged to General Bering’s ward, as he knew, by right of 
adoption ; and it was with an odd sense of relief that 
Alfred, searching the girl’s sweet face, read nothing vainer 
in it than honest content, natural pleasure in the enjoyment 
of the hour, while the smile that flashed into her eyes and 
curved her lips as she saw him was too sincere, too radiant, 
not to be gratifying. 

“So ! You have begun social life in eaniest ! ” he said, 
when he could turn from the General, who was eager to hear 
the result of his business trip. He swept her face with a 
glance as she stood in the firelight, a channing impersonation 
of girlhood, with that touch of quiet womanliness which he 
found often Dolly’s greatest charm. “I need not ask if 
you are well and happy.” 

“ No,” said Dolly, with shining eyes. “ I am both ; life is 

153 


154 


FOB HONOR'S SAKE. 


a wonderful tiling it seems to me. The days, Alfred, are 
only too short, too full.” 

“ Are you up to your eyes in engagements ? ” His voice 
was lowered. 

“ Yes — no ; that is, there are plenty of engagements 
offered ; but this next week I am only accepting what 
Honor can share.” 

“ Then may I offer one ? I want you to come down to 
the studio with Honor, and I’ll ask our old friend Miss 
Dearborn. Have you time for her ? ” 

Dolly’s radiance faded. Her face for an instant was 
proud and hurt in it’s expression. 

“ When I have no time for those I love,” she said quietly^ 
It will be because I have no heart. How can you ask me 
such a question ? ” 

“I was a brute,” he exclaimed, in a low tone. “You 
must forgive me at once, or I shall be miserable. The 
fact is, Dorothy ; you at times rouse the most contradictory 
feelings in me. I can’t describe 'it. I have a queer, baf- 
fled, irritated sense of standing ‘ without your gates.’ 
There ; don’t look at me with such reproachful eyes.” 

Dolly tried to smile, but she was chilled, and a sense of 
constraint made it hard for her to join in the general con- 
versation which ensued. The General was discoursing on 
the palmy days of Italian opera in the “ old Academy,” 
when Patti was a girl, when Sontag was in America, 
when Malibran’s divine voice carried the world by storm ; 
and Mrs. Hale, who enjoyed “ White Wings,” and “ In the 
Gloaming,” she declared, better than any other music, was 
sighing over the present “ rage,” as she called it, for Wag- 
nerian opera. It resulted in the General’s bidding Dolly, 
late as it was, go to the piano in the ante-room and sing 
his favorite, “ Auld Kobin Gray.” Dolly’s voice was fresh. 


‘ ‘IIO W CAN YOU A SK ME S UCII A Q UESTION? ” 155 


sweet, and true, if not brilliant ; a contralto with an ex. 
quisite cadence ; an unconscious pathos in it, and her 
enunciation was perfect, so that there was real pleasure in 
listening to her sing an English ballad. The sweet old- 
fashioned song telling its plaintive story suited her voice 
perfectly, and Alfred listened dreamily, wondering if the 
hint of sadness, of melancholy, which sounded in the girl’s 
voice, sprang from feelings deeper than she ever cared to 
show. As he went away, out into the snowy street to the 
cars, the refrain, the pathetic melancholy, the heart-broken 
words haunted him, and he recalled, like something seen in 
a picture, Dorotliy’s figure in the dimly lighted, sombre 
room with its background of rich green plants, and white 
and crimson flowers. Why was it that something, unreal, 
shadowy, uncertain seemed to hover about this brilliant, 
luxurious life of hers ? If he could have saved her from 
any perils lurking unseen in the flower-strewn rosy path 
she seemed to be treading, how gladly, thought the young 
man, as he strode along with his head half -buried in the 
tall collar of his ulster, he would do it — but the next 
moment he almost laughed at himself for a bit of fantastic 
folly, or superstition. What an idea to suppose there could 
be danger ahead in this “ calm sea and prosperous voyage ” 
of Dorothy’s ! Was it not only because she seemed some- 
way set farther and farther apart from him that he allowed 
himself such fancies ? Yet there had of late come to his 
knowledge certain reasons for dreading any intimate 
relations with the Hildreths. He disliked the widow 
cordially, because he mistrusted her ; and Floy, he felt, 
was artificial and shallow. Like Honor, he had observed 
Mrs. Hildreth’s agitation when Peter Baker’s name had been 
mentioned that day at The Glen, and he knew enough of the 
old moneylender’s sharp dealings to suspect Mrs. Hildreth 


156 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


had some cause to fear the man and some knowledge he 
might have it in his power to use. Alfred felt, with a 
touch of the “ lawyer ” uppermost in his way of reasoning, 
that some one ought to watch “ developments ” with a legal 
eye, and as he let himself into the studio where a light was 
burning, although Fraser had gone to bed, he determined to 
be on the alert, and to see whether his suspicions lately 
aroused were correct. 

He did not feel inclined to sleep, but flung himself on the 
sofa, and lighting his pipe thought over many things which 
had been more or less disquieting of late. He blamed him- 
self for that ridiculous impulse, when with Dorothy, to say 
things which hurt and startled her. What was it he wished 
her to understand by so doing? Was he fool enough 
to suppose she cared further than she would care for the 
cutting speech of any one in her special circle ; but a re- 
membrance of that swift, mute look of reproach which had 
risen to her eyes came back, making the young man grind 
his teeth with vexation at his own stupidity. Fraser, with 
all his blunt, downright unconventionality, could not have 
so wounded or pained any one he cared for ; and thence 
Alfred’s thoughts drifted away to Honor. What a keen, 
shrewd, observant little woman it was. And how wonder- 
fully lovely she was growing. The cousins were as differ- 
ent as red and white roses ; and so, reflected Thorndyke, as 
he puffed away at his pipe, and the hands of Fraser’s tall 
Nuremberg clock crept on to the first hour of the morning, 
one could And variety and equal interest in their society, 
could cultivate an impartial, honest, cordial feeling of friend- 
ship for both girls alike, and beyond this was the boun- 
dary line he had sternly laid down for himself long ago. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


SYBIL DESCRIBES HER IDEA OP A “BRAND.” 

“ There, Emily ! if Sarali Robinson doesn’t feel com- 
forted by that^ I shall give up ! ” 

Dolly, as she spoke, held up to view a felt hat, adorned 
with bows of bright red ribbon. 

“ And who is Sarah Robinson, may I inquire ? ” demanded 
Honor, lifting her eyes from her book and glancing rather 
contemptuously at the new hat. 

“ My dear,” interposed Sybil, “ do you need to ask ? 
Sarah Robinson, no doubt, is one of the recent ‘ brands ’ 
Emmie and Dorothy have been snatching, assisted by Mr. 
Fraser.” 

Dolly laughed and nodded her head. 

“ Right you are, Sybilla. Sarah has for some time, we 
discovered, cherished the most painful longing for a hat 
trimmed with red ribbon, like a certain Kitty Meagher’s. 
I thought of Sarah’s future — and decided to give her her 
heart’s desire.” 

Emmie was regarding the new hat critically. 

“ Very nice,” she declared seriously. “ And really, Dolly, 
Sarah is not a bad-looking child.” 

“ Will you look at them,” said Sybil, in an aside to Dolly. 
“ One would suppose they were planning a ‘ surprise ’ in the 
way of a costume for Ada Vandeveer’s dance ! and it’s all 
over a hat for a little slummy girl, who will probably lose 
it in the first ash-barrel she runs against.” 

“ Not Sarah,” protested Dolly, with a laugh. “ Sarah 

157 


158 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


will wear it and treasure it. Oh, dear ! I wish we could 
make them good as easily as we can make them happy. 
J7ow?ever, as Mr. Fraser says.” 

‘‘ By the way,” said Honor, in the tone, half of contempt, 
half amusement, which she always used in speaking of 
Fraser. ‘‘ Do you know he says he can’t understand lohy 
people should quote that particular expression of his and 
always add as Fraser says, just as if to ejaculate however 
was at all peculiar.” 

“ And what did you say ?” demanded Sybil. 

“ I ? Oh, I assured him it was his way of saying it, so 
conclusive, or consolatory, or resigned, or melancholy, 
just as he felt. lie always says ATowever, when there is 
nothing on earth left to say for a thing. Now that's 
lovely.” As Emmie gravely tried on Sarah Robinson’s 
new hat and regarded herself thoughtfully in the glass. 
“Emmie, dear, you look too sweet for anything. Well, 
I’m glad, Sybil, you and I are not cracked on the subject 
of ‘ brands.’ ” 

“ I’ve all I can do to keep plucking myself out of the 
fire,” moaned Sybil, with her pretty head on one side and 
her dainty idle hands stretched above her head, as she 
lounged in an easy chair in Dorothy’s special sitting-room 
upstairs. It was Tuesday morning, clear, cold, but bright. 
After luncheon, the girls were going down to the studio ; 
later, Emily, Dorothy, and Donald Fraser, with Mrs. An- 
derson’s Margaret and the Doctor’s Peter as a “body- 
guard,” were to proceed to their “ entertainment ” for street 
Arab«, in an eastern down-town district. Honor had not 
betrayed the scheme she and Alfred had for surprising the 
philanthropists at their work, but she was looking forward 
to it with glee, only wishing Sybil could join them ; but 
that airy young person was going to the Nelsons for the 


SYBIL DESCRIBES HER IDEA OF A “ BRAND:' 159 


evening, she had announced. “Yes,” continued Sybil, 
“ I’ve established a kind of Home Mission for myself. I 
send myself stockings, and shoes, and flannels — matinee 
tickets, and a new muif, and I’m thinking of writing myself 
a tract or two. I tell you what' it is, girls, I’ve a regular 
‘ slum ’ on my own hook up in my room sometimes.” 

“I should have said as much this morning,” observed 
Emily. “ I wish you could have seen her ! She had the 
three dogs up there learning tricks, some of Will Fowler’s 
newest pranks. Poor old Gyp is so old ! It was like 
teaching your great-grandfather to skate or waltz ! I de- 
clare, Syb, I’ll tell Mr. Bergh’s people of jonN 

“ Gyp’s only too flattered by my bothering with him. 
^ you could see him amble through a hoop ! It took me 
one hour to get him to even try, and then he just staggered 
in and tried to go to sleep every time on the other side.” 

“ Fancy one hour on such a performance ! ” groaned 
Emmie. 

“Well, Y enjoyed it,” said Sybil stoutly. “I nearly 
died laughing. I could have gone on another hour except 
that you were ready to come over here, and I knew you’d 
need my opinions. See here, Em, why don’t you put a red 
bird’s wing in that hat ? I have an old one at home.” 

Emily and Dolly exchanged glances. 

“ We don’t approve of using birds,” Emily said, a little 
quickly. “ We’ve specially asked our children not to do it 
on the ground ” 

“ On the ground,” echoed Honor quietly, “ I suppose, of 
cruelty to the poor little creatures killed to decorate us. 
Well, Emmie, I applaud you and Dolly for once. Now that 
kind of thing appeals to me.” 

“ You’re what Donald calls a humanitarian,” said Emily, 
smiling. 


160 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


“ Am I ? I didn’t know it ; like the man in the play 
who wasn’t aware he spoke French. Well, I’m glad to be 
classified. What do humanitarians go in for ? ” 

“ General well-being of breathing creatures, I believe,” 
said Emily. ‘‘ No necessity for any special creed or dogma 
or beliefs.” 

That must be me,” said Honor, with a comical expres. 
sion. “ I’ve been trying a long time to find out what I 
am. A ‘humanitarian,’ eh?” she added thoughtfully. 
“ Now I shouldn’t have supposed I was anything so good 
as that sounds. Well, I’ll try to live up to it, Emmie.” 

Emily smiled but said nothing, and silence for a few 
moments among the quartette ensued, disturbed by the 
postman’s whistle, and a moment later Jane appeared with 
two letters for Dorothy on a little tray. 

Dolly opened them quickly, — they bore the Beckford 
postmark, — read over the first with a perplexed expression, 
then turned to the other, saying, “ From Nona,” and 
proceeded to read it aloud. Things at the River House 
were going on finely under Miss Jane’s vigorous rule. 

“We really will soon get a reputation for being the 
neatest family in Beckford,” Nona wrote. “ Aunt 
Jane is in raptures over her success. We have a 
Swedish girl in Mary Anne’s place, and a young girl to 
help, and to take care of the redoubtable Anna Maria, 
whom Aunt Jane is educating after a theory peculiarly her 
own. She is to reason out everything, and you would 
shriek with laughter over some of the scenes between the 
two. We were passing Mills Pond the other day, and 
Aunt Jane pounced on Anna Maria Avith : ‘ AYhat is that 
piece of water ? ’ A. M. regarded it severely a moment, 
and answered, ‘ A collection of gases.’ We Avent into fits 
of laughter, but Aunt Jane said that she had determined 


SYBIL DESCRIBES HER IDEA OF A “ BRAND." 161 

Anna Maria should not grow up sentimental or imagina- 
tive. Fred calls her Miss Gradgrind, but all the same he 
and Aunt Jane are sworn friends. By the way, I fancy 
he’s going down to FT. Y. soon to see you on business,” etc., 
etc., etc. 

Dolly tossed the letter to Honor to finish reading it 
aloud, explaining that the other was from Mrs. Hildreth 
and she must consult the General about it. 

As she left the room. Honor looked at the girls with a 
mournful shake of the head. 

“ I presume darling Florence is coming on a visit,” she 
observed. 

“ Can it be ? ” said Emily, with genuine anxiety in voice 
and look. “ Well, I suppose Dolly feels satisfied it is all 
right.” 

Meanwhile Dorothy had paused a few moments in the 
library to re-read Mrs. Hildreth’s letter, and to consider its 
contents before going to the General. It was a brief note 
explaining that she and Floy thought of coming to town 
for a few days’ shopping and to see the dentist. Would 
dear Dorothy mind looking up some very inexpensive, but 
well-warmed rooms for them, loithout board ? Sorry to 
trouble her, etc., etc. 

Of ^urse Dorothy read between the lines.” It meant 
that they would like an invitation to stay at General Ber- 
ing’s. What should she do or say ? The small end of the 
wedge would certainly |)e inserted if they came — yet to in- 
fluence her guardian against inviting them would be, she 
feared, ungenerous. Dolly slowly made her way to the 
General’s study, knocked liglitly, and being admitted waited 
a few moments in silence until Mr. Sanders, who was with 
the old ofiicer, had finished taking down some instructions 
for work in the Astor Library, where he was hunting up 
11 


162 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


references for a work on war times which the General was 
preparing. 

“Now, then,” said the old man at last, and wheeling 
about in his chair so as to face Dolly until Mr. Sanders 
withdrew, “ what do you want, little girl, with that serious 
face of yours? Am I to subscribe to your and Emily’s 
racket down town again ? ” 

Dolly laughed gayl3^ 

“ No, indeed. Cousin Angus ! We promised only to tax 
y'ou once a month. I had a letter this morning from Mrs. 
Hildreth,” she held it out to the General, who received and 
read it in silence. 

“ Well ?” he looked at her gravely. 

“ Do you think she expects an invitation here ? ” 

The General smiled faintly. 

“ Why, of course ” he said, with a gesture of impatience. 
“ That is what the letter means. I can’t have it, Dolly. 
Stay, here is an excellent excuse.” He fumbled among the 
papers on his table, found a letter, and handed it to her to 
read. “ There, you see ; young Marston has found the ten- 
ant for the Homestead perfectly satisfactory, but he wants 
immediate possession. Now, what do you say to taking a 
fl^dng trip up to Johnsburg, going through the house, and 
making sure it is all right ? Four hundred a year is not 
much of a rent, but we must remember that the place is 
miles from the railwaj^, needs a great deal of care, and the 
stock amounts now to nothing.” 

“ And a careful tenant is so desirable,” said Dolly eagerly. 
“ Indeed, Cousin Angus, I shall be only too glad to go. 
Aunt'Jule will go over everything with me.” 

“ You could take Jane, I suppose ; go one day and back 
the third, eh ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 


SYBIL DESCRIBES HER IDEA OF A “ BRANDr 1G3 

“ Then write to Hannah Hildreth you will look up rooms 
for her, but you are going out of town yourself on business. 
I engage she’ll find the shopping and the dentist can wait,” 
he added grimly. 

Details as to Dolly’s journey were discussed, and it was 
decided that she had better start the next day but one, 
writing to her aunt in advance, so that they could proceed 
to the Homestead without delay. There was actual relief 
in this decision in regard to the Hildreths, and Dorothy 
wrote a kind little note, explaining that she was going to 
Johnsburg on business, but would see about the rooms be- 
fore leaving. 

The afternoon was bright and clear as had been the 
morning, and the four girls set off in high spirits for the 
studio, where they were to meet little Miss Dearborn, 
Dorothy and Honor’s cousin, a maiden lady of middle age 
who supported herself giving music lessons, and whom 
Dolly would fain have sheltered from all the burdens of 
life had the little lady permitted it ; but owing to an old 
estrangement from General Bering, who was her step-uncle. 
Miss Dearborn shrank from accepting favors purchased by 
his money, and Doll}^, as the quartette went down to the 
studio building, rejoiced inwardly over the fact that she 
would soon have an income, however small, which Cousin 
Priscilla could not refuse sharing. 

Meanwhile, in the large picturesque studio which, as 
Dolly said, was a really good “workshop” in spite of its 
varied “effects,” Donald Fraser was busy with Miss 
Dearborn setting forth the tea-things, putting some pic- 
tures with their faces to the wall— dusting, straightening 
up, and tidying the place generally ; Miss Dearborn, a 
slendei-j delicate little woman, with the softest dark hair 
and eyes, the sweetest look a rather plain face ever wore, 


104 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


flitting about, now and then pausing to admire this or that, 
while the two talked confidentially and freely ; Fraser, a 
broad-shouldered, vigorous looking young man of six or 
eight and twenty, with a face rugged in outline, and some- 
what stern, but rendered wonderfully attractive when he 
smiled or the dark eyes kindled in response to any feeling, 
holding forth on the subject of the entertainment for the 
evening, which was to have some specially novel features 
in the way of a magic lantern and “ shadow drawings.” 

“For you see. Miss Dearborn,” said Donald, relighting 
his pipe and glancing at his watch, “ I’m a thoroughgoing 
believer in leading these people to have faith in your 
understanding them and what they want. We get nearer, 
the girls and I, to the most wretched of them, with a lit- 
tle fun first than any other way. It’s the old principle,” — 
Fraser smiled, the look which was like Nona’s crossing his 
fine intelligent face swiftly, — “touch the heart and you’ll 
find the soul around it.” 


CHAPTER XXIL 


A “ SOCIAL ALEXANDER.” 

W HY is it that certain days, certain places, certain hours 
even, have more power, although trifling in their events 
and suggestion over the memory, than stirring times and 
events and striking surroundings ? A long time after this 
December Honor Kent used to recall that special afternoon 
at the studio, wondering why its slightest detail had power 
to thrill and hold her memory captive. Everything in the 
room was thoroughly familiar to her — yet why had it all 
someway a new meaning ? Xo one said or did anything in 
particular that should have made it so ; yet light speeclies, 
chance words, seemed impressive, and her whole being 
vibrated in response to influences in a way which perplexed 
and troubled, indeed half tormented her. For Honor 
scorned being ^Hmpressionable.'*^ She liked to pick to 
pieces every impulse even, however recklessly she allowed 
others to regard her indulging in the same. She was most 
critical when apparently least observant, and she despised 
herself whenever her heart beat a stroke the quicker for 
anything merely to be called a “sentiment.” Dolly’s 
warm young blood might ebb and flow a dozen times a 
day the swifter or slower in answer to some pulsation of 
feeling from causes without. Her eyes might darken, or 
glow as often as any feeling within stirred or kindled their 
fair depths, but not so Honor, who, as she sat by the great 
crackling fire in the studio about four o’clock that afternoon 

165 


IGG 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


listening to Alfred Thorndyke read a bit out of a book he 
had 23icked up, while the others were variously occupied 
across the room, wondered why the scene, the hour, were 
fitting themselves deliberately into a place in her mind 
whence she was well aware they could never be ejected. 
Across the room Dolly was idling at the piano,, Fraser turn- 
ing over the music ; Sybil now and then interposing her 
pretty fair head above Dolly’s shoulder to follow as well. 
Miss Dearborn, with her delicate cheek on her hand, was 
sitting quiet and happy behind the little tea-table, and 
Emily was re-arranging a huge bowl of chrysanthemums on 
one of the shining dark tables. Here, at this end of the 
studio, it seemed to Honor she and Alfred had all the fire- 
light to themselves, although now and then red gleams 
leaped across the darkly shining spaces of the floor or 
slowly mounted to form a red color on the ceiling. She 
had not felt at first specially drawn to what Alfred, leaning 
over the back of a chair near her, was reading : only his 
voice became a sort of accompaniment to her dreamy feel- 
ing, to her gradually setting of this experience like a 
picture in a franie, but the words caught her attention 
and became largely part of it. “Hours indeed depart 
from us — days and months and years ; nor does past time 
ever return, nor can it be discovered what is to follow. 
Whatever time is assigned to each to live, with that, he 
ought to be content. . . . For the short period of life is 
long enough for living well and honorably ; and if you 

should advance further ” Alfred broke off, and Honor 

looked up with a smile. How well she recalled later as 
part of the picture his keen dark face with the look that so 
often puzzled her in the eyes, the curve of the lips. The 
firelight showed it now with forcible effect. 

“ Well ! ’’—she spoke softly, not wishing to disturb their 


A “ SOCIAL ALEXANDER. 


167 


tete-a tete, her voice inaudible to the others, while Dolly 
played the ‘ Swan Song.’ “ Why do you stop ? ” 

‘‘ He speaks of hours,'’’* said Alfred, with an odd expres- 
sion, half- vexed, half-humorous, “ and he wrote this — that 
I hold in my hand reading to you, centuries — over two 
thousand years ago ? Heavens ! Honor, isn’t there a 
whole sermon in the mere idea ? ” 

“ He ? ” puzzled Honor, still gentle in tone and look, 
“ who ? ” 

“ Old Cicero,” smiled Alfred. “ Well, it’s the old story.” 

Honor’s pale cheek colored. 

“ He was not — Christian,” she said, looking down. 

“ ‘A seeker after God,’ ” quoted Alfred. He went back 
to the little book again, and continued : “ ‘But to my mind, 
nothing whatever seems of long duration in which there 
is any end. For when that arrives, then the time which 
has passed has flowed away; that only remains which you 
have secured by virtue and right conduct.’ ” 

Again the book was nearly closed, and Honor met 
Alfred’s keen glance with the lurking smile in it. 

“Too solemn for you. Honor ? I chanced on this book 
the other day at our old book-stand, and remembered — that 
is, it brought back some talks Dolly and I used to indulge 
in some time since, when we were more youthful in years.” 

Honor interrupted him with the flicker of a teazing smile. 

“ Listen ! Dolly has lost none of her old ideals, I assure 
you. Did she care for what you have read just now ?” 

“ I don’t remember. I opened this at random. Some- 
how ” he made a backward gesture to indicate the 

group near the piano. 

“ I feel. Honor, as though they, and you ami T form, as 
it were, two parties. We represent the I’agan ainlience 
for their good works.” 


168 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


Honor’s blue eyes looked very strange. “ Do you — do 
I — really give that impression ? ” She spoke in a low, horri- 
fied sort of whisper. Alfred laughed. 

“ Are you shocked ? ” He saw it was in earnest, and added 
quickly, “ Don’t mind what I said — but you see I classi- 
fied us together.” 

“ Yes — ” she was still looking at him with that profound 
air of distress, surprise ; hard to say just what her beauti- 
ful, grave face expressed, but she continued, “ I know — the 
shock, I suppose, is in suddenly seeing ourselves as others 
see us.” She smiled faintly. 

“ But Donald — I thought,” urged Alfred, a trifle vexed 
at having forced the subject on ; “I thought he constantly 
was saying this.” 

‘‘ Ah, but then,” cried Honor softly, “ it is always as 

though he did not — could not believe I really was ” She 

paused, and the color mounted in her cheeks. 

‘‘ And when I spoke.” 

“ It sounded,” said Honor, “ so cold-blooded.'^^ 

‘‘ I am cold-blooded,” rejoined Thorndyke, with a short 
laugh, and moving around, he seated himself in the high- 
backed chair against which he had been leaning, while he 
laid the little old brown volume on the chimney-piece above. 

“ Yes,” he continued, smiling again at Honor, “ I was 
taking myself to pieces last night, leisurely and critically ; 
the works don’t run always as I would have them, and I try 
to find out what’s out of gear, and I concluded a peculiar 
kind of deliberate cold-bloodedness was characteristic of 
me.” 

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” Honor 
laughed. 

“ I shall think it out. Will you suggest a remedy, if one 
occurs to you ? ” 


A “ SOCIAL ALEXANDER: 


169 


“ But,” her lips quivered slightly, “ perhaps we are classi- 
fied together, aren’t we ? peril aps I am cold-blooded, too ; 
so I shouldn’t know your needs.” 

“ There’s a warm drop or two I’ll warrant in your frozen 
heart,” laughed the 5’^oung man. ‘‘As it thaws out, perhaps 
it will suggest a way of moderating my frigidity.” 

“ How, especially, does the iciness affect you,” said 
Honor, composed enough now to speak lightly. “ Does it 
make you regard your fellow-beings with stoniness — or do 
you — is it that you just don’t care^ generally ? I’m that way 
sometimes.” 

“Oh, no ! I’m by no means stony. I am only cold, criti- 
cal, analytical, deliberate. I smile cynically and my lips 
curl at sentiment. I doubt ; I scoff. You appreciate the 
frame of mind.” 

Honor gave her little, gleeful laugh. “Dr. Jekyl and 
Mr. Hyde,” she declared. “ Upon my word I never 
dreamed you were such a dissembler.” But an instant 
later, she remembered they had drifted away from their 
serious bit of talk and would like to go back to it. “ Was 
Cicero a dissembler ? ” she added softly. 

“ Cicero, to-day,” said Thorndyke gravely, “ would, I be- 
lieve, have been one of the finest Christians who ever 
followed his master.” 

“Alfred,” exclaimed Sybil suddenly, don’t you go 

down to the hall to-night and speak to the ‘ brands ’ ? ” 

Honor was conscious of a look at her before he an- 
swered. 

“ My dear Sybil, may I inquire why you are going to 
the Kelsons’ little dance ? ” 

“ But,” said Sybil, detaching herself from the group at 
the piano and coming toward them, “ that is an old en- 
gagement.” 


IVO 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


“ And I,” said Alfred gravely, “ have an engagement as 
well.” 

“ I’m sorry,” Dolly remarked, looking up from the seat 
she had taken near Miss Dearborn. “ I hoped you would 
come, perhaps at the last moment — I thought,” she looked 
very sweet and gentle, “ we might cajole or lure you after 
we got down there. Is your engagement very urgent ? ” 

“ More than urgent.” 

“ Some girly"* scorned Sybil, screwing up her nose. “ I’ll 
wager my new hat it is.” 

“ Well, there are nice girls,^'* declared Alfred, imitating 
her tone ; “ at least some — a few who do not bore one over 
much — even a few who cheer and do not inebriate ; is that 
right ? Now, this girl of mine ” 

“ Oh!'"* was chorused. 

“ Well, I admit the girl — she is one of the noblest of 
sisters — I arranged to pass a pious evening at a place ^of 
mild amusement with her.” 

Which means,” said Fraser, coming nearer, “ he will 
take her to the Eden Musee and hear her giggle and scream 
over the wax figures, and show her all the pictures in the 
glass stereoscopes.” 

‘‘ That kind of a girl,” said Sybil, deeply disgusted. 

“ I know all kinds,” said Alfred. 

“ Oh, no doubt, very well ! ” 

“ Next time you may count on me,” said Alfred cheer- 
fully. “Miss Dearborn, why don’t you defend me? To 
hear these young things talk one would suppose me inca- 
pable of a singly deep or manly feeling.” 

“ You are capable of so many kinds,” laughed Miss 
Dearborn, to whom Thorndyke, since his illness of last 
winter, had been her idol, “ I am afraid to say where one 
could draw the line ! ” 


A “ SOCIAL ALEXANDER. 


171 


“ Ada Vandeveer described you the other day,” observed 
Dolly gravel}^ ‘‘ We were discussing the various young 
men in our special circle. You were mentioned ; some- 
thing was said about your being critical, and Ada 
remarked: ‘Oh, Mr. Thorndyke ; he is our social Alex- 
ander. ’ ” 

A chorus of laughter followed this and Alfred remarked : 

“ For that, Ada deserves the very first waltz at the next 
‘ Antiques.’ ” 

“ Social Alexander is about as inclusive as one could 
wish,” said Fraser, who had with permission filled his pipe, 
and was on the sofa near Miss Dearborn. “ I wonder 
whether I’d ever find a girl so totally inane as to call me 
that?” 

“ laughed Emmie, with a glance at his tall, 

broad-shouldered figure in the brown velveteen coat ; 
wonderfully becoming, but decidedly shabby. 
aspire to it, Donald, I beg.” 

“ Oh, don’t be alarmed,” he retorted, “ Alfred balances 
things well. Even Miss Dearborn calls him an epicure ; 
and between that and the Alexanderism, there’s very little 
left.” 

“ Isn’t this rather cloying ? ” said Alfred, who was at the 
piano. “ I know I’m more interesting than any one else, 
but a little at a time, you know.” 

“We rarely are quite so profuse in compliments,” re- 
marked Dolly, who, wandering aimlessly about the room, 
had lighted upon the little volume of Cicero and was turn- 
ing its leaves idly. Honor watching with a curious look in 
her eyes. “Aunt Jo complains that we are always teazing 
and chatfing each other, and she ought to be regaled with 
this afternoon’s discourse.” She spoke slowly, with her 
eyes on the little book. Alfred crossed the room leisurely. 


172 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


and stood near her a moment in silence. She turned 
another leaf or two, staying her hand suddenly at the page 
where a little time ago Thorndyke had been reading, and 
moving her head slightly looked up at him with that quick, 
sweet smile that seemed to bring out at once the serious- 
ness and the purity of Dolly’s eyes. It was a glad, expect- 
ant look too. “You remember when we read that,” she 
said in a low tone. “ Nor ‘ need the wise man live till the 
plaudite^ ” she quoted. “ Do you remember the talk we 
had about that ? ” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Alfred quickly, and with one knee on 
the chair back of her, he looked over her shoulder. “ Turn 

over there ,” he read on a line or two, Dolly following 

with serious intentness. “ I thought you would remember 
it all,” he concluded. ^ 

Honor had not moved or spoken, but not for an instant 
had that intent, strange look of hers wavered. A queer, 
balHing sensation seemed for the moment to be tightening 
some cord around her very heart-strings. She could not 
possibly have defined the feeling ; could not have put its 
cause into words, and yet as she sat there looking at the 
other two — at Dolly’s tall, vigorous, young figure, her fair, 
noble face, with its candid brow and composed sweet lips — 
at Alfred leaning over her; the cynicism, weariness, all 
gone from his expression now, a sense of miserable heart- 
sickness crept over her. Was it, could it be an3^thing so 
mean as jealousy — jealousy of the cousin who had been 
more than sister — wholly friend — who had enveloped her 
whole life with such care, such tenderness, such luxury of 
living? Honor would have given worlds to be able to 
fling the idea with scorn and contempt from that inner 
recess of her heart where she showed her real self to her 
own consciousness only, and yet she could not. It rose up 


A SOCIAL ALEXANDERS 


173 


and confronted her, mocked her ! It seemed to be calling 
her what Alfred had done an hour ago. Pagan, “Yes,” 
thought the poor child desperately, “ that is what I am ! 
pagan ; I would be more like her, like Dolly, if it were 
different.” And as though physical movement would wrench 
her away from these miserable thoughts, Ilonor sprang up, 
and crossed tl»e room liastily, interrupting Donald’s tete-a- 
tete with Miss Dearborn rather inconsequently, by asking 
some question concerning the hour for what Sybil called 
the “ Brand entertainment.” 


CHAPTER XXIIL 


A REVELATION. 

Honor had composed herself thoroughly before evening. 
That miserable sense of shame, it is true, had not wholly 
left her, but the sharp, pricking sensation which she had 
suffered in the studio, while Dorothy and Thorndyke read 
from the little “ Cicero,” had been routed, during the half- 
hour before dinner, while she sat in the great easy chair 
before her bedroom fire, and marched her inner enemy out 
to be battled with. If such encounters left Honor a trifle 
harder and more cynical than before, it is scarcely to be 
wondered at, since her weapons were of the coldest, 
dreariest sort. The triumph was one of mind entirely : 
the sense of victory produced only an added consciousness 
of her own “ strength of will.” She had got the better 
of herself — of nature,” she reflected, with a smile, as she 
went slowly downstairs at half-past six o’clock, to find 
Dolly in the drawing-room, dressed in plain warm costume, 
ready for the evening’s work, but discussing with Mrs. Hale 
the Johnsburg expedition. 

“ Oh, I hadn’t a chance to tell you. Honor darling,” said 
Dolly, as her cousin appeared, and circling the slim waist 
with her arm when Honor came near her. “ I am to start 
at once, and you must tell me just everything you want 
done and said at home.” 

It flashed across Honor’s mind as she stood on the 
hearthrug, leaning her head against Dolly’s shoulder, that 
perhaps — perhaps she had better ask to be taken home ; 

174 


A REVELATION. 


1V5 


would not that be the wise, the prudent, the right thing to 
do ? But Honor’s philosophy could not carry her so far. 
She was silent. 

“ Fred Marston found the tenant, you say ? ” Mrs. Hale 
remarked, as they went in to dinner. 

“ Yes,” said the General, catching the words. ‘‘And an 
uncommonly smart young fellow he appears to be. I 
declare I never thought Will Marston could have so shrewd 
a son. Simms, you can take this soup away, and be kind 
enough to tell the cook never to make anything of the kind 
again. My dear Dorothy, I hope in your charitable gad- 
dings about 3 "OU will save a little time to look after the 
table.” 

Dolly looked crestfallen. 

“ I’m so sorry. Cousin Angus,” she said eagerly. “ I think, 
though, Mary had an idea that was a soup you particularly 
liked.” She did not add he had given her the receipt him- 
self. 

“ Well, well, my dear ; Mary musn’t have ideas then,” he 
answered a trifle mollifled, but, as was his wont, more dis- 
turbed over a trifle of the kind than if he had been asked 
to subscribe fifty dollars to the most undeserving object. 
“ Yes,” he continued, “ I mean to look about for that young 
Marston. I had a long letter to-day from his aunt. She is 
anxious to push him, I find.” 

“ Oh, indeed,” said Mrs. Hale, exchanging a look with the 
girls. “Well, Jane Marston has a great deal of good 
sense.” 

“ It appears,” said the General, “ he has done admirably 
well for her with a little money she gave him to invest. 
Now there is, one thing I always like — a woman’s never un- 
dertaking to invest for herself. They can’t do it. They’ll 
either cheat somebody or get cheated themselves, Dolly, my 


176 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


dear,” the old officer was quite genial once more, as leaning 
back in his great leather chair, and bringing the tips of his 
white fingers together, he surveyed the fair face and figure 
of his adopted daughter, at the other other end of the table, 
with smiling admiration. “I’m going to make a clever, 
capital, little business woman of you, I promise, but there’s 
one thing I bid you to beware. Never venture any invest- 
ments on your own account. Do you hear, young lady ?” 

Dolly long after recalled in a flash the words, which some- 
how must have taken lodging in her brain ; but at that 
moment she was absorbed in reflections about the unlucky 
soup, taking herself to task, needlessly, for perhaps really 
neglecting some household duty in her zeal and interest 
in other things, and now she only answered, smiling a little 
absently : 

“Oh ! yes, sir.” And very soon the conversation drifted 
on other subjects ; the dinner ended, and, leaving her guard- 
ian busy writing in his study, and Mrs. Hale and Honor 
reading in the library, she departed to call for Emmie as 
usual and proceed to that delectable region where the 
“brands,” according to Sybil, were always to be found gaz- 
ing into the fire of earthliness, but “ ready to be plucked.” 

Honor let lier book fall as soon as the door closed upon 
Dorotliy and the faithful Jane, who, with an air of mingled 
martyrdom and admiration, always accompanied her young 
mistress on these evening expeditions, and in a moment 
walked over to the window to reassure herself that the 
night was fine. Slie was more eager over this evening’s 
journey than ever she had been about any real festivity, 
though just what she expected it would have been difficult 
to say; particularly, as with her anticipation of pleasure 
and fun in the whole affair, was an odd idea that some 
moral influence would work toward her and be felt. Honor, 


A REVELATION. 


177 


as she stood gazing out upon the clear starlight night, 
smiled to herself. “ Little do they think I am a brand,” 
she reflected, and then her heart gave a quick throb as she 
saw a well-known figure in the long ulster turn the corner, 
and spring lightly up the three or four steps to their front 
door. 

Mrs. Hale was in the secret ; had ordered the coupe well 
warmed, and, when Alfred made his appearance, she begged 
him to be very sure Honor took no cold. 

“ Why, Mrs. Hale,” laughed the girl as she drew on her 
gloves. “ Don’t you know I’m Dr. Anderson’s prize cure ? 
And such a night ! ” 

‘‘ She doesn’t look an invalid,” declared Alfred, surveying 
Honor’s slim upright figure incased in a rich sealskin pale- 
tot — Dolly’s birthday gift — the fair hair surmounted by a 
seal toque whose brown hues mingled effectively with the 
soft blonde waves on her brow, with the admiration he 
never failed to show for Honor’s dainty loveliness. ‘‘ Here, 

Honor ; one touch of color ” He removed from the lapel 

of his coat a small bunch of violets and dexterously fastened 
them against the collar of rich dark fur at her throat. 

There — even Fraser couldn’t find fault with that.” 

The color had rushed with pleasure into Honor’s cheeks, 
and her heart beat swiftly for a second or two ; but Thorn- 
dyke had not the faintest idea of anything personal in what 
he had done, and observed only that the young girl was 
certainly looking uncommonly bright and very beautiful ; 
but Honor’s charms were of the unvarying sort, and ac- 
cepted by their little circle as much as a matter of fact and 
of superiority as was that certain something which made 
Emily never out of place, undignified, or forgetful of 
her mother’s favorite, ‘‘Noblesse oblige.” To have said 
more than that Honor looked well ” '^as superfluous, and 
12 


178 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


adding an effective touch of color to her costume, or sug- 
gesting this or that arrangement of drapery for lier meant 
no more than giving her what was her full due. So Honor’s 
blush and passing happiness in the violets were unnoticed, 
as the cause had been unintentional ; Alfred, indeed, being 
occupied even as they drove to Homer Street with reflec- 
tions of a very personal character. 

He had been little Miss Dearborn’s escort home ; had 
insisted on her dining with him, and their talk had been of 
a nature to set him thinking seriously ; but he was ready 
enough now to answer the few remarks Honor made as they 
drove rapidly down town, and as for the young girl there 
was a curious sense of happiness even in the stillness and 
silence. 

It was her first visit to the hall where the entertainments 
were given, and as Alfred helped her to alight from the 
luxurious little carriage, she found herself in a narrow street 
where flaring gas-lamps revealed houses and shops of the 
poorest description, while even at this hour the usual col- 
lection of street Arabs were to be seen, most of whom 
pressed forward, to gaze in speechless admiration at the 
coupe, the beautiful young lady in the rich furs, and the 
“ swell ” who was hurrying her all too quickly for their sat- 
isfaction toward the dingy door leading into Baker’s Hall, 
as the place of amusement was named after its owner. 
The hall was on the second story, and up a flight of rather 
rickety and decidedly dirty steps the two passed, Alfred 
keeping Honor close to him. On the landing a young man 
sat at a table taking tickets, which, by the way, Fraser sup- 
pilied all applicants free of charge, reserving to himself only 
the right to eject any too demonstrative or wild member of 
the audience, and Alfred laughed as he observed to Honor 
they might not be able to get in. But a silver quarter 


A REVELATION, 


179 


reconciled the ticket-taker, and holding open a door mid- 
way on the narrow corridor, Alfred ushered Honor into the 
liall. 

The first impression was of a heavy atmosphere, a 
crowd of people filling the rows of benches which extended 
from a small stage at the back to the windows fronting the 
street ; of every variety of rough, unwashed, ill clothed, 
awkwardly seated and lounging boys and girls, men and 
women — Honor seemed to feel herself suddenly confronted 
by a phase of human nature she had never dreamed of as 
real — then gradually as her eyes grew more accustomed to 
tlm scene she was aware of the objects on the stage ; of 
the screen against which a picture had just been thrown up 
from Donald’s lantern, managed by a thin, very active boy 
whom he employed, finally of Donald’s presence, his tall 
strong figure — his fine keen face, as he stood wand in hand 
describing to his motley audience the picture before their 
eyes. 

“ Sit here,” whispered Alfred, placing her, as comforta- 
bly as circumstances would allow, on one of the nearest 
benches and taking the vacant place beside her. It had oc- 
curred to him that in this atmosphere it might not be inju- 
dicious to be near the door. In the front bench they could 
see Emily and Dolly and Jane. Honor smiled her thanks 
and bent her attention eagerly upon the stage. ' 

Fraser’s voice was a quiet, deliberate, usually speaking, 
unemotional one. Honor had not before been aware that 
it held a curious vibrating quality not unlike the note of 
some deep-toned instrument, capable of subtle power, of 
reserve force which made it at times peculiarly thrilling. 
And in his appearance, standing as he did in full view of 
the audience, his head well held up, his shoulders squared, 
his strong firm hand with a “ high ” light on it as it guided 


180 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


the stick, Honor was forced to admit that if not handsome 
he was certainly a remarkably striking and attractive figure. 
When, now and then, he flashed a quick sympathetic look 
upon his audience, his expression had something in it Honor 
never had observed before. Something which his uncouth 
audience seemed certainly to understand and like, for there 
would be at such moments a perceptible movement ; a nod- 
ding of heads, or even a half-audible word or two just as 
though the people wanted Mr. Fraser to feel they were 
“ with him and Honor found herself capriciously 
wishing Donald would look like that when he talked to her, 
instead of smiling at her in a quiet, half-contemptuous, 
wholly compassionate fashion. While she was wondering 
how he could look and speak so differently to this rough, 
uneducated, dirty set of people, there was a momentary 
darkness, then the stream of light fell once more on the 
white screen and a new picture slowly came into view. 
Honor started. Whether she looked at Alfred or not she 
could not say, yet somehow she was profoundly conscious 
that something of her own feeling reached, perhaps min- 
gled with his, but neither of them moved or spoke, while 
Fraser’s voice went on, his tone full of that restrained pas- 
sion, though his words were of the simplest as he described 
the scene before them : Christ in the hall of Pilate listen- 
ing to the charge against His Divinity. 

At other times, and in language suited to their under- 
standing, aided by these pictures which so held their 
fancy, he had told them parts of the story of their Redemp- 
tion, and now, this sublime scene in the narrative of Christ’s 
passion was before them, and in words full of meaning, and 
love, and tenderness he told them of how, like a thief, a 
felon, a meanest criminal, their Lord and Saviour had stood 


A REVELATION. 


181 


before the judge, and among the rabble, hearing himself 
denied ; harder to bear — knowing them deaf to the message 
of joy and hope and peace He had brought them. Every 
homely simile, every touch which could make their hearts 
beat in sympathy with their despised and rejected Master, 
Fraser gave witli gentle force. Honor objected to sermons. 
As a rule she never listened to them. She had not tliought 
of such a thing as Fraser said now ; of Christ as that “ dear, 
patient The word had been used often enough, no 
doubt ; what gave it a new meaning now ? 

“ It must have seemed hard enough,” Fraser was saying, 
‘‘ to stand there, knowing He had such a beautiful friend- 
ship to offer tliem, such a beautiful kingdom to promise 
when they should leave this world for the next. But as 
He said then to Pilate, ‘ My kingdom is not of this world. 
If my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants 
light that I should not be delivered to the Jews ; but now 
is my kingdom not from hence.’ ” 

The picture faded. Honor’s heart beat strangely. When 
the light fell again she felt relieved by a more peaceful 
scene, that of Christ arisen, standing among His disciples ; 
and could with more composure listen to Fraser’s brief and 
simple, but intense way of illustrating that hopeful text : 
not faithless., hut believing 

“Well,” whispered Alfred, as the last of the dissolving 
views was given, “ shall we go forward and see the others ?” 

Honor nodded, smiling faintly. As they were moving 
toward the stage Fraser turned, and for the first time ob- 
served them. A quick, dark flush spread across his face, 
he made his way quickly down the little steps at the side, 
and greeted Honor by almost wringing her slim fingers out 
of joint. 


182 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


“ So this was your engagement,” he said with a shrewd 
smile, making haste to see that Honor had the most com- 
fortable place possible in Emily’s wing. 

‘‘ We wanted to take you unawares,” smiled Honor. 
‘‘Mr. Fraser,” she added presently, “I believe every indi- 
vidual here considered himself and herself specially ad- 
dressed when you talked.” 

Fraser gave his head the toss backward which was char- 
acteristic, pushing his hair up roughly. 

“Do you think so? Well, I mean it that way. Now, 
then. Miss Emily, for your recitation.” 

“Well, upon my word!” whispered Honor to Alfred. 
“ I never knew before that Emily recited.^"* 

“ She doesn’t,” said Dolly gravely, “ except down here.” 

The sweet, simple rendering of a homely ballad pleased 
the audience greatly, and then, to the still further surprise 
of Honor, Alfred was summoned to do his part. It was 
clear that he was a favorite ; clear that something about 
him impressed the audience quite as favorably as did Fra- 
ser’s unusual magnetic force; whether that careless air of 
distinction, which was in everything he did and said, could 
be defined or not, it certainly was effective with them ; and 
even in the simple, straightforward “ talk ” he gave them, 
about practical business, and moral matters, there was a 
touch of that eloquence which, as Honor knew, was already 
making itself felt even among his older and more learned 
associates. He spoke clearly, earnestly, and directly to the 
point ; told more than one amusing story to point a moral ; 
made them laugh at will, and apparently very easily swayed 
their sympathies. He was loudly cheered, and acknowl- 
edged the plaudits with an easy sort of good-humor, then 
resuming his place near Honor, smiled lazily as she softly 
brought her gloved fingers together in mute applause. 


A REVELATION. 


183 


“ Easiest thing on earth to do,” he observed. A chorus 
rose now ; Dolly’s voice, clear and vibrant, seemed leading 
it. It was only an everyday popular ballad, but nothing, 
Fraser was eagerly explaining to Honor from a seat just 
behind her, pleased them better than this kind of a chorus. 
“We mean, after the holidays,” he explained, “to have 
one night every two weeks just to teach them singing. 
Curious, Alfred, the influence it has on the dullest. Look 
at that wide-open mouth over there will you ? That fellow 
is absolutely happy — by George, I must get him.” 

On went Fraser’s glasses, out came a tiny note-book, 
and a few lines were scratched down comically like a youth 
of tender years near by, whose entire face seemed described 
by the open circle of his mouth. “ Upon my word you’d 
think it would be painful,” he said, replacing the book and 
hurrying away to the final ceremonial of “ winding things 
up.” 

There was more or less confusion of course in emptying 
the hall, but finally the last tramp sounded on the old stairs, 
and Alfred was heard begging Dolly for “one dance more,” 
while Jane got the wraps together; Fraser and Emily were 
busy noting down some ideas the evening had suggested, 
and at last, by ten o’clock, the lights were out and our 
party together on Homer Street. 

Honor felt unusually silent. • Even long after they were 
home, and she and Dolly, as usual, were in the latter’s room 
for their final “ good-night ” talk over their hair-brushing, 
she found it difficult to put anything into words. But 
Dolly was full of the Johnsburg expedition, and if she 
observed Honor’s quiet manner, she ascribed it easily 
enough to fatigue. She tucked her cosily in bed, a cus- 
tom resulting from invalid days, bent to kiss her smooth 
cheek as usual with that feeling of protecting love which 


184 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


was a strong element in her devotion to the younger girl 
— then as she returned to her own room wondered if it were 
possible she had felt tears on Honor’s cheek. 

She stood a moment in her own doorway ; said softly : 

‘‘ Honor, are you feeling all right ? ” 

“ Indeed, yes,” was Honor’s answer. As Dolly’s door 
was closed a little half-sob, half-sigh escaped Honor’s lips. 

“ Hot faithless, but believing,” she murmured, closing her 
eyes with a sense of pain that was almost physical; “oh, 
if I could be ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


IN THE TOILS. 

It was a rough, tumble-down looking house to the casual 
observer, the residence of old Peter Baker, some four miles 
from Johnsburg, and yet not without capacity for keeping 
out wind and rain — indeed, defying time and the elements 
generally. Tradition said that Baker had built it of odd 
stones picked here and there and put together at random, 
and it looked as though such might, indeed, have been the 
case, since no two pieces of stone-work or masonry seemed 
harmonious ; even the windows were irregular in size and 
odd in position ; the roof slanted in one place so low that 
the western wall of the kitchen was very near the ground ; 
and again, where the queer old building took a turn, lay 
straight and smooth, save for two smoke-stacks above the 
second or attic story. Standing on a bleak hill, with a gar- 
den straggling in the rear, and not the least pretence at or- 
namentation or even culture in the rough-looking ground 
before the door, it was not cheerful, to say the least, in 
summer, and in winter presented an appearance dreary as 
the lives of the three people who occupied it — old Baker, 
his mother^ and his niece Evelina, otherwise Evvy, a tall, 
freckled, light-haired girl, under eighteen, who, on a cer- 
tain morning early in December, was occupied preparing 
the mid-day dinner for the household, and talking to Fred 
Marston, who had arrived the night before on a business 
visit to her uncle. 

Fred looked singularly out of place in the bare, cheerless 

185 


186 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


kitchen, with his spruce dress, his good imitation of ‘‘ele- 
gance,” but he was in a very good humor and it amused 
him to see how it pleased Evvy that he should take the 
trouble to talk to her at all. Fred was one of those people 
who prefer being the superior on any occasion, being looked 
up to and admired, and as there was no question whatever 
as to the light in which old Baker’s mother and niece re- 
garded him, he could afford to be very patronizing, even 
kind. Moreover he had a little point to carry for himself. 

“I can’t see what difference it will make, Evvy,” he was 
saying, as he lounged gracefully in the window, while Evvy 
solemnly peeled her potatoes and did not lift her eyes ; 
“all I want you to do is let me know just one little thing.” 

“Uncle’d be mad,” responded Evvy, with a slow raising 
of her eyelids, and looking at the young man out of 
a pair of honest, if not pretty, pale blue eyes. “ He’d 
be wildN 

“ What ! ” exclaimed Fred, with his light laugh. “Just 
if you told me who it was that Mrs. Hildreth came to 
see ! ” 

Evvy nodded her head sagely. “He’s alwaj^s a-saying 
I’m not to speak of any of his business,” said the girl. 

“ But this couldn’t be business,'* protested Fred, not at all 
as though it were a matter of any special consequence. 
“It’s merely — well, I have a reason, just for fun, that I 
want to know. Evvy, 3"OU don’t suppose for an instant 
that I’d wish to get you in any trouble. Hear me, no. 
Come, you needn’t be so disagreeable.” 

“But you see,” said Evvy, with very red cheeks, “he 
doesn’t so much as know I know — see? He’d be raging 
if he did.” 

“So much the better,” declared Frederick. “Then if 
you tell me he’s sure not to find it out.” 


IJSr THE TOILS. 


187 


“What you want to know fer?” demanded Evvy, sud- 
denly and looking straight at him. 

“I — oh — why it’s just to see if I’m right about a certain 
bet I made.” 

“Well,” said Evvy, after a brief pause, during which she 
washed off her potatoes and put them on the fire, “I 
dassnHy 

Fred watched her for a moment in vexe^ silence, a frown 
darkening his weak, handsome face, then thrusting his 
hands in his pockets he turned, and whistling carelessly, 
made his way out of the kitchen and into the little parlor, 
where a fire had been lighted for his benefit, but so recently 
that only the first chill was taken off the icy atmosphere. 

But Frederick cared very little, just at that moment, 
about externals ; he flung himself into the great horse-hair 
rocker, his head down bent, the frown deepening between 
his blue eyes, while he gave himself up to the reflections 
which of late had become anything but consoling com- 
pany. Truth to tell, he was in what he called a “ peck of 
trouble,” and if he had expected to find a way out of it 
through old Baker’s assistance, lie well knew now that a 
heavy price would be exacted for eveipr stone’s weight of 
the burden lifted. If only he had any one to go to ; any 
one who could just “tide him over” this one stumbling 
place. Alas, for Fred ! like many another who starts on a 
path of secrecy, the pitfalls had already been numerous ; 
the labyrinth ahead was far more tangled than he dared 
admit. He had undoubtedly carried through the business 
of leasing Dolly’s old home successfully for Baker. 
What the ulterior end of the shrewd old miser might be 
it was difiicult to say. The tenant was a good one, so far 
as he knew ; a hard-working farmer with a good reputa- 
tion ; but of course Baker had a motive, of that Fred was 


188 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


perfectly well aware ; and whether it boded ill or well for 
Dorothy Kent was not, he told himself, his aifair. He 
was very proud of having at that moment in his pocket- 
book a crisp-looking check for two hundred dollars, being 
a quarter’s rent in advance, and which he intended paying 
into Dolly’s hands personally. The tenant, a man named 
Overby, would not be in Johnsburg until the week follow- 
ing, but to-morrow Dolly was to have the keys of the 
house ready for Fred, and sign all necessary papers. It 
was but a small transaction compared to many she would 
probably have to undertake ; still Dr. Kent, Honor’s father, 
had made various inquiries concerning the tenant, etc., and 
everything had been pronounced entirely satisfactory ; 
young Marston alone appearing in the matter. That he 
should be at Baker’s place was easily accounted for since 
the old man was a client of his father’s. 

Fred sat buried in thought for half an hour. It was an 
additional vexation that he could not find out what had 
prompted Mrs. Hildreth, only a week ago, to pay old Baker 
a flying visit ; for himself he cared very little, but Florence 
had grown very confidential with him, and had made it a 
point with him to discover the reason of her mother’s sud- 
den and mysterious journey. She had assured him that it 
was only because she was so afraid her mother might be 
venturing on some rash money enterprise ; “and we are 
poor enough now, Fred,” Floy had said, with her soft eyes 
full of wistful pleading. Ko one better than Fred Marston 
knew just how dangerous anj'- enterprise guided by Baker 
might be, and he had decided to put Mrs. Hildreth, for 
Floy’s sake, on her guard, in case he could come upon a 
clew, which would show the widow that he knew some- 
thing of the business. Evvy’s evident fear of talking of 


IN TEE TOILS. 


189 


the matter only seemed to bint at a deeper mystery and 
piqued Frederick’s zeal in it, while to return to Floy with 
some valuable intelligence would be a new rivet in the 
bond between them, which had steadily been growing 
stronger. There had been no open declaration on Fred’s 
part, no admission of actual yielding on Florence’s, yet in 
some way the young man felt they “ understood ” each 
other, and was very certain that if he were in a position to 
offer her anything like a comfortable home, she would ac- 
cept the offer he longed, poor fellow, to make her. He had 
told her all about his “ investments,” otherwise specula- 
tions, of a character which involved a great deal of his 
honor and reputation, which mighty it is true, by one of 
those queer turns in the wheel of fortune, make him thou- 
sands the richer, and might end in open disgrace if the 
course he and his friend, a certain Tom Hines, were pursu- 
ing among some of their Wall Street colleagues were kept 
up. In any case, as Fred knew, his hands 'could not be 
shown as perfectly clean, and to do him justice his con- 
science tormented him so often that he would declare to 
himself, once “out” of this and he would turn his back on 
it all once and forever. Florence urged him on toward 
making all he could ; indeed, had the girl but known 
it, she had been the incentive which started his feverish 
desire for money. He had realized, poor lad, from the 
start that she would not be happy waiting for him to win 
his way ; would care very little for the most honest hand, 
empty of all but the love it bore and the readiness to work 
for her. A temptation had been flung in his way. It 
looked glittering, secure, and in an evil moment Fred had 
yielded. Henceforth with fluctuations, doubt, despair, 
flashes of success, still a will o’ the wisp ahead, he had 


190 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE, 


gone on feverislily, now and then tempted to abandon the 
whole affair, but each time only sinking deeper, and 
Baker’s assistance had but tightened his chains. 

Fred’s revery was a miserable one enough, and he Avas 
thankful when the entrance of old Baker, and Evvy’s an- 
nouncement that dinner was ready, interrupted it. 

Money-getting had been so long the old man’s passion 
that he had ceased almost to feel in any direction which did 
not lead clearly to some financial gain, but his senses were 
sharper than other people’s where profit was concerned, and 
accordingly he gauged very cleverly now precisely what 
was Master Frederick’s present difficulty. He had not an 
atom of compassion for the boy ; not a spark of remorse in 
grinding his soul and conscience in his terrible mill ; but 
he had some use still to make of him, and accordingly it 
suited his purpose to be very friendly now, and to seem as 
nearly ympathetic as it was possible for him to look and 
speak. Poor Fre<’, too youn^ and ignorant, for all his 
‘‘ investi- lents ” an^ ‘‘speculations,” to read such a riddle as 
the heartless old man might well seem to people of honest 
purpose, caught quickly enougn at the bait throwm out, and 
in answer to Baker’s well managed questions, admitted he 
was in “ trouble ” again — the last speculation he and Hines 
had tried was not “ all they had hoped.” 

Baker looked shrewd, and tried to look sympathetic. He 
must not be too easy, but at the same time he must keep 
Fred in his power. Full well he knew that no act of actual 
dishonesty had tarnished the boy’s conscience even, although 
there had doubtless been moral wrong enough in grazing 
so near the edge of what was strictly honorable and legally 
correct in many of their doings, but it would be hold enough 
over him to keep him in debt. 

“ I’ll tell you w at I’ll do with you, Marston,” the old 


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IJSr THE TOILS. 


191 


man said finally, after puffing away at his clay pipe in 
silence for several minutes ; Fred, to Evvy’s intense admi- 
ration, having produced a ten-cent cigar. If you can raise 
two hundred dollars to pay me down, I don’t mind letting 
you have a cool thousand for it, and what’s more I’ll put 
you and Tom Hines up to as good an investment as you 
want to make.” 

Fred sprang to his feet. What would not that “ cool 
thousand ” do for him ! with his usual sanguine way of 
looking at things independent of any moral question, he 
already saw his bonds broken, himself untrammelled, free 
perhaps to ‘‘begin again.” Just how or when Baker was 
to be paid counted for nothing in that exultant moment. 

“ But, the two hundred ! ” he exclaimed, walking ner- 
vously about the room. 

“Easy enough, if you’ve any sense,” said the old man 
quietly. “Haven’t you that check of Overby’s? That 
girl of the old squire’s is sure to lend it to you if you ask her 
— never knew a Kent as could refuse a dollar any one 
wanted.” 

Fred’s heart gave a bound and then seemed to stand 
still. How w'-as it he had never once thought of Dolly as 
a possible good Samaritan before ! Probably because, 
although he was not fully aware of it, there lingered 
even in his business life enough of his father’s spirit to 
make it seem impossible to go to a woman, a “girl,” for 
help. But now, hesitations of the kind seemed merely 
fanciful. Was there not success, perhaps Florence herself, 
at the end of it? And, true to his nature, Fred was as 
buoyant now as he had been down-hearted before. He 
would “ confide ” in Dorothy. At least he would tell her 
about Floy and himself. He was mistaken in the squire’s 
daughter if he could not count on her ready sympathy 


192 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


there, and it would no doubt increase her desire to befriend 
and help forward Florence’s interests with the old General. 

“ I can’t but try it,” the young man said at last, bringing 
his walk to a stop just in front of his host, and looking 
wonderfully brighter for the last five minutes’ reflections. 

Well, you must make one thing clear,” said Baker. 
“ Now, don’t forget that. If she lends it to you, it must be 
a sworn secret between you two. If you do as I tell you, 
you’ll return it with interest in thirty days.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


AT THE OLD FIRESIDE. 

Dorothy was sitting alone in the deep-windowed, old- 
fashioned parlor of the home where she had passed her 
serene, happy, uneventful childhood. For two days she 
and her aunt, Mrs. Kent, and Jane had been busy going 
over the dear old house ; packing away certain articles in 
the portion of the attic she reserved for the purpose ; taking 
inventories ; making some repairs in curtains and hangings ; 
putting everything in order for the new occupancy, and if 
there had been little time to think or “ look back,” Dolly 
had not been sorry; she was glad that the first hours iii the 
old home liad been fully occupied. But now, almost every- 
thing had been done to prepare for giving up the keys into 
young Marston’s keeping, and Dorothy was glad of a 
tranquil hour or two by herself, wliile Mrs. Kent had gone 
liome to see that the doctor and the younger children were 
all right, leaving Dolly well cared for by the elderly 
couple who had been in charge of the house for a year 
past, and by Jane, who was full of impoitance over the fact 
that she had seen for herself her “ young lady’s ” own beau- 
tiful home, and on returning to New York could the better 
talk of it to Simms and Jonas and Mary Avho, in spite of 
their real affection for and intense admiration of the Gen- 
eral’s adopted daughter, were inclined at times to regard 
her as dating all her prosperity from the hour he had 
“ taken her up.” It had been an immense satisfaction to 
Jane to fold away the piles of beautiful lavender-scented 

13 193 


194 


FOR UONOR’8 SAKE. 


linen ; to lock in their cases silverware, wrap up cut-glajfs, 
and pack the delicate china used by Dorothy’s grand- 
mother ; to follow her young mistress through the wide, 
comfortable, but silent rooms, noting their air of old- 
fashioned elegance, feeling, without of course defining it, 
their suggestion of a home which had been at once com- 
fortable, tranquil, and refined, and these impressions ifully 
received and stored up for the benefit of the New Yorkers’ 
kitchen, Jane was equally well pleased at this moment to 
be sitting in the homestead kitchen, expatiating to Mrs. 
Bryan upon the grandeur of Miss Dorothy’s home at Beck- 
ford, the Fifth Avenue house, and the “ tempo’ry ” one on 
Forty Street. 

There had been of course more or less confusion to Dolly 
in those first hours. There had been first an afternoon 
with the Kents, in Johnsburg, where all tongues flew, 
there was so much to hear, to tell, to ask, to discourse ; 
Honor’s state of health a pre-eminent topic of course, yet 
her uncle and aunt were keenly anxious to have details of 
Dorothy’s own life ; to look at the girl from eyery point of 
view, to listen to what she had to say with interest and 
pride, affection, heartfelt satisfaction, while Dorothy on her 
part felt every fibre of her heart stirred by this renewal of 
old association, this nearness once again to the people 
nearest of kin to her on earth. 

“ Not a bit changed is she ! ” was Aunt Jule’s proudly 
uttered verdict, when she and the doctor were alone to- 
gether. What a grand creature she is turning out. 
Poor Nell ! How happy it would make her to see the girl 
now ! ” 

“ What I like,” said the doctor, “ is that she doesn’t 
seem to lay claim to being the General’s heiress ; and 
Jule, you may call me a Job, if you like, but I tell you I 


AT THE OLD FIRESIDE. 


195 


know old Bering better than you think, and Dorothy need 
not consider herself the heir to his money until it’s in her 
own hands once and for all.” But this opinion made abso- 
lutely no effect whatever upon Mrs. Kent who, overjo^^ed 
to find Dolly so true to herself, so bright, so sweet, so un- 
affected and girlishly happy, entered heart and soul into 
all her niece had to tell of her new life, her winter’s pros- 
pects, etc., and was beginning to be reconciled to the fact 
that Honor ought to remain a few weeks longer in New 
York, while she had nearly given her promise she herself 
would spend Christmas-tide with the girls at Beckford. 

Dolly, when Mrs. Kent drove away that afternoon, went 
back to the parlor, where a grand fire blazed on the hearth, 
and curling herself into the great leathern arm-chair she 
had called her ‘‘ Cubby-house,” as a baby, leaned back, con- 
tented to be quite alone — glad to think. 

The return to Johnsburg, the wandering into every 
nook and corner of the old home, even the detailed enu- 
merating of every trifle either to be left out or stored away, 
had seemed to emphasize, as nothing else could have done, 
the changes in her life since, as a girl not quite seventeen, 
she had left the Homestead for the first time ; since the 
period, still fresh in every detail, when the General had 
*come here to aid her father, and ask her to fill the place 
left vacant twenty years in his lonely dwelling. 

Events, during the past two years, stirring as they might 
be, important as they were, had come about with too little 
volition, as it were, on her part, to make them seem any- 
thing but natural, and one thing had so easily followed as 
a consequence of the other, that Dorothy had lost a sense 
of anything like suddenness in the changes in her life. 
There had been so little matter for debate in anything ; 
all that had been done for, and about her, had so clearly 


196 


FOR HONOR ’S SAKE. 


been a happiness to the General, that she had known little 
reason to question any steps taken, or to stay the progi'ess 
of what had seemed a happy fate for all about her as well 
as for herself ; and beyond all this, was the fact of which 
she would have been in any thoughtful moment well aware, 
that she herself, in heart, in sympathy, in human interests 
had made no change. 

But now, coming back here, and as I have said, picking 
up a bit of the old thread of life in everything she saw or 
touched, Dolly’s full consciousness was roused. She seemed 
suddenly to have focussed a point of view, to see her new 
life, her new self, her new responsibilities as they really 
were, and going back over all the months during which 
she had been the General’s charge, she realized that she 
had pledged herself to a life of varied and powerful in- 
terests, some of which were perplexing, some fascinating, but 
all more or less part of her actual duty, and the thought 
that stirred her most profoundly came of a dread lest she 
should not always use for the best the power and influence 
her position certainly conferred. Impulsive Dorothy might, 
always would be, a trifle given to idealizing and draping 
her world in too picturesque colors, but consciously selfish 
or indifferent to others she could never be ; nor could she 
at any time act in opposition to what was a direct guide of 
conscience. To wrong a human being in any way would 
have been impossible to the girl, and almost equally strong 
was her eager desire to do all to the fullest for those about 
her which was their due. Hence, in this hour of self- 
debate, the recollection of the Hildreths’ position was very 
present to her mind, perhaps urging itself forward all the 
more because she knew that, personally, she did not care 
even for Florence. Her power over the General had made 
it clear to her that whatever was done would be throuo-h 

o 


AT THE OLD FIRESIDE. 


197 


and by lierself ; hence her peculiar responsibility, and as 
she gazed down into the “home ” hearth once more, where, 
as a mere baby, a tiny child, a growing girl, she had so 
often watched the embers gather, the sparks fly, and the 
great logs fall apart, Dolly’s whole soul seemed to And 
utterance in a prayer that her feet carry her into the right 
paths, her hands lead all who held them safely, her head, 
heart, brain, do their best. And for herself.^ Dorothy was 
girl-woman enough to ask herself, to ask the future as it 
were, some questions. Had she no strongly, purely per- 
sonal hopes, needs, ambitions, or desires? There were 
many of the vague kind common to every young and 
ardent soul ; some heroic and perhaps overstrained, some 
too faintly defined, too sacred to find words, and which 
seemed only now to shine like a halo about other, clearer, 
more practical visions of a perfect, harmonious, but every- 
day working life. As the dreams of heaven, “ the light 
that never was on sea or land,” the glory of the far-off 
jasper and sardonyx gilded city, can touch and transfigure 
what is only earthly in our daily routine ; so these far-away 
projects of a life in which there might be something sub- 
lime enough to offer at God’s gate touched Dolly’s every- 
day existence, and made some of her most prosaic efforts, 
her least active hours all aglow. But as her thoughts 
went from point to point, as her heart thrilled in response 
to this or that, Dolly was conscious that long ago, here, 
in this very room, she had once wondered whether life 
would hold for her the poetry of a perfect comradeship, a 
marriage which should round and perfect a certain ideal 
which the traditions of her home life, the purity and higli 
purpose of lier whole associations had made seem possible, 
and to be taken with gratitude and humility as a help, not 
hindrance, to better things. 


198 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


The old dream, or perhaps only that touch which had 
made it so inetfably alluring, so unlike wbat was common 
in the story of an everyday world, Dolly told herself, for 
some reason she could neither analyze, nor define, must 
vanish. It had no part, she felt very sure, in this new, busy, 
responsible world and life of hers. Perhaps, doubtless, 
it had never really existed. But whether or no, of one 
thing the girl told herself she was very sure. There was 
no foundation for belief in its existence to-day. It would 
be worse than foolish, it would be weak^ to cherish an}^ 
fanciful imagination on the subject, a result of which un- 
doubtedly would be to destroy what was really happy, and 
bright, and pleasant in her relationships with different 
people. And surely, the girl asked herself, smiling, but 
with something suspiciously like moisture on the dark 
fringes of her downcast eyes, was not the reality which was 
left, good and comforting, and a help? A genuine com- 
radeship, a friendship totally devoid of “silliness,” as she 
declared any other feeling to be, something to rely upon 
strongly. And better still — free from any sentiment, could 
she not be a better help? Ah, there were weak points 
enough in her hero’s armor. Dorothy had tried them 
with pin pricks already ; places only clear, true example, 
patient effort, unfailing prayer could strengthen. And if 
she could so “ strengthen and make whole,” would it not be 
more than the lotus-eating fancies which had made noth- 
ing but personal happiness seem worth attaining ? Dorothy 
gave a little half-sigh, half-sob, feeling all alone in the 
dear old parlor, not ashamed of the two or three tears that 
splashed down upon her hands in the firelight, and her re- 
solves were of the bravest. Surely there was much for her 
to do with all her heart and strength, and as surely would she 
make the effort, divesting it of all merely personal claims. 


AT THE OLD FIRESIDE. 


199 


The short winter’s day was nearing the twilight, and still 
Dorothy had not moved. Scarcely a sound was audible in the 
quiet house. Once or twice she bent down to put a fresh 
log upon the fire, and the crackling sound was cheering and 
good company. Mrs. Kent would not return before night- 
fall. It was four o’clock now. Then quite suddenly the 
bell rang, and a moment later Dorothy’s dreaming was over. 
Fred Marston, braced and invigorated by his walk and his 
expectations, was ushered into the firelit room. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


“l FEEL AS IF I SHOULD DESPAIR.” 

Dorothy sprang to her feet, smiling and coming forward 
with a quick, cordial greeting. 

“ How nice of you to come over,” she exclaimed. ‘‘ Such 
a long walk, too ! ” 

“ Just what I liked,” said Fred, taking the seat she indi- 
cated, and tossing his gloves into his hat with an effort at 
complete ease of manner which, now that he was actually 
in Dolly’s presence, he was far from feeling. “ Well, you 
are about ready, I suppose,” he added, glancing around the 
room. “ And we might perhaps conclude our business 
arrangements.” 

Dolly laughed. 

“ It seems so queer to me, to be actually letting a house,” 
she declared. “ Somehow, until there was the question of a 
tenant here, I had never thought of myself as really owning 
it.” 

There was a pause ; then Fred said, with a note of genu- 
ine feeling in his voice: 

“It must be a pleasant sensation, that of owning any- 
thing! By Jove ! How much it would mean to ” 

Dolly was startled, as much by something in the young 
man’s face and voice as in his words. She had once or 
twice, from trifles, suspected that Frederick’s paths in life 
were not all pleasant ones, but that he was in any actual 
trouble, much less real need, had never occurred to her. She 
said nothing now, but the swift look of sympathy on her 

300 


“ / FEEL AS IF I SHOULD DESPAIR: 


201 


face was all that Fred, full as he was of his topic, needed, 
and he continued hurriedly, and with an honest rising of 
color in his face : 

“ Miss Dorothy, I may as well rush right at what I have 
to say ; perhaps you’ll wonder at my confiding in you, hut 
if you knew how I felt, how wretched I am, and how 
truly I believe in your kindness ” 

He broke olf, walked over to the window, and stood an 
instant looking out, Avhile Dolly, with her quick sympathies 
aroused, exclaimed anxiously : 

“ Oh, do go on ; tell me — what is it ? Can I do anything 
for you?” 

Fred, more composed now, turned again, and seating him- 
self, faced Dolly bravely while he continued. 

^^Alay I claim half an hour of your time ? \do need your 
counsel, if nothing else. To begin with. Miss Dorothy, I 
have long, at least for more than a year, had but one 
great ambition, to be in a position where I could ask Floy 
Hildreth to marry me.” 

A look, which for the moment swept away all weakness, 
crossed Fred’s handsome face, and Dolly, kindling to the 
torch of romance, said eagerly, “ Oh, Fred ! is that so? I — 
I half suspected it ! ” 

“ Did you ? ” He smiled rather sadlj^ “ I should think it 
would seem great presumption on my part. Miss Dolly ; she 
is so good, so beautiful, so far beyond me. Still I have 
some hope. If only I can get on in a business matter I am 
undertaking.” 

“Yes,” said Dolly, still gently sympathetic. It was the 
first genuine love story in their little circle, her special 
world. True, Ethel Thorndyke had “ confided ” in her to 
the extent of enumerating the various qualities, compara- 
tively speaking, of two lovers she had had ; but then, Ethel 


202 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


had not pretended to the least sentiment concerning either 
of them, and had with grave deliberation decided to resign 
them both, as not quite what she ought to expect. But this 
little glimpse of a love story was a very different matter. 
Shallow Fred might be, but there could be no question of 
his being thoroughly in earnest about his love for Florence, 
and Dolly knew too little o£ the world, of tile realities of 
life, not to be thrilled by the very idea of his choosing her 
for a confidante in such a wonderful matter. It was easy 
enough, Fred found, to talk to her. Before half an hour 
had gone by he had given her all his grounds for “ hope ” ; 
he had read her bits of a letter Floy had written him the 
day before, and Dolly had declared it he had 

produced the pen-wiper she had made for his birthday ; 
had gone over various scenes in which he described himself 
as on the verge of speaking, but restrained by his fear of 
its being too soon ; finally had assured Dolly, what, poor 
fellow, he thoroughly believed to be true, that not only 
was he wretched in this condition of suspense, but he felt 
sure even an engagement with Floy would be the very 
“ making of him.” 

“ You don’t know. Miss Dorothy,” he said, flushed with 
his own eloquence, and looking so much better than usual 
that Dolly was moved to a more genuine liking for him 
than she had ever felt before ; “ you don’t know what a 
terrible position I am in. Now comes another point to 
confide to you.” He passed his hand across his brow and 
luirried on. ‘‘I have had a little business trouble. There 
are reasons, good ones I assure you, why I can’t possibly 
go to my father about it, but the thing is driving me wild. 
It may seem nothing to you. Miss Dolly, but my heavens, 
it means everything to me. Two hundred dollars would be 
the saving of me.” 


‘ / FEEL AS IF I SHOULD DESPAIR. 


203 


Fred had fully roused himself to a belief that if, indeed, 
he could obtain this sum, and invest Baker’s thousand in 
somethin<y legitimate and secure, he would turn his back 
forever on Hines and his roundabout, enticing schemes for 
making a “ fortune.” 

Dolly’s cheeks colored. Her first thought was to ask the 
General’s assistance. 

“ The main difficulty is,” Fred continued, ‘‘ that the posi- 
tion is just so peculiar that, for about a month, it can’t be 
known I borrowed it ; but it will all come right then.” 

“ I had been thinking,” said Dolly hurriedly, “ I could 
go right to General Bering and get it.” 

Fred’s face flushed. 

“ Oh, thank you. Miss Dolly,” he said eagerly, but just 
now, that wouldn’t do. If I were alone in the matter it 
would be different, but, the fact is, I am pledged to some 
one else.” 

He looked, as he felt, profoundly wretched. Dolly 
leaned her head on her hand, pondering in her mind what 
she could do. Of course he must be helped. Of course 
his love affairs must be straightened out as soon as possible. 
It was the first time since she had had any control of 
money that her generosity had been appealed to for a friend, 
and not for an instant did it occur to the girl to reject this 
opportunity of “ doing good.” Ignorance of the world 
made her overlook businesslike details. She simply hesi- 
tated, wondering first how much actual money she had at 
her disposal now, in her purse ; how she could save more 
from her personal allowance, the only resources which oc- 
curred to her mind. How, as it happened, the actual allow- 
ance was not a very large one, for it was merely pin-money. 
She could buy what and when and where she liked, it is 
true, and send in the bills, but her odds and ends ” in the 


204 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


way of expenditure were bought out of her month’s allow- 
ance. This, of course, as she well knew, could be increased, 
but it was not in Dolly’s scheme of well-doing to loan 
money privately, thus obtained. 

Fred’s face had gathered gloom, had begun to show 
humiliation, while she deliberated ; and, looking at him 
suddenly, Dolly observed this and felt a pang of remorse. 

“ Oh, Fred,” she said quickly, was just thinking how 
I could lend it to you — out of my allowance, you know, 
since you don’t want me to go to the General. ” 

“ Is your rent — your allowance ? ” said Fred slowly, a 
dark flush mounting to his very brow. 

Dorothy’s face brightened. 

“ Why, MO,” she exclaimed, “ of course not. That is 
quite my own. Is not Mr. Overby to pay me a sum to- 
morrow ? ” 

“ He paid me for you j^esterda}^,” said Fred, in a low tone, 
and then suddenly he added, “ Oh, Miss Dolly ; dorCt think 
me a cad to come like this to j^ou — but if you only knew 
the precipice I’m standing on. I feel as if I should despair 
if I didn’t get that money ! ” 

Dolly’s whole heart was full only of compassion, and 
fearing her generosity would look too much like conferring 
a favor, she said quickly : 

DonH — don’t feel badly Have you got that check? 
Tell me what I am to do about it.” 

And ten minutes later, by what seemed to Dolly the onlj' 
and most natural process imaginable, the check had been 
made payable to Frederick Marston and was returned to 
his keeping for all the good — or ill — it might do him, and 
Dolly’s first feeling was only one of gratitude that so easilj^^ 
and so soon, she had been able to make really good use of 
her own money. The pledge to secrecy was easier to give 


“ / FEEL AS IF I SHOULD DESPAIR:' 


205 


in that, certainly, as Dolly assured herself, she would not 
wish to tell any one of a kind act, which it Avould have been 
mean to refuse to any friend, and moreover Fred promised 
so soon to “explain everything,” that it could not be re- 
garded as anything like a trammel on future frankness. It 
was pleasant after this to discuss Fred’s affairs of the heart, 
and Dolly keenly enjoyed her role of confidante ; here Fred 
laid no embargo on her speech when she urged him to let 
her tell the General, giving as a reason the interest her 
guardian had expressed already in Fred’s welfare. Who 
could tell what good luck it might bring if Dolly acted as 
ambassadress in the matter? Altogether the two young 
people had talked themselves into a very romantic and 
sanguine frame of mind by six o’clock, and Dolly felt as if 
she had never half understood before how “ nice ” Fred 
Marston really was, while the fact of his blind adoration for 
Florence made her incline to like that young person much 
better. The sense of her being a sort of presiding genius 
over a love story was really delightful, and long after 
Fred had gone away, pouring forth his thanks to her and 
protesting all manner of things for the future, Dolly spun 
out more of the romance, planned Floy’s trousseau, a 
wedding from The Glen, all manner of delightful, wonder- 
ful concomitants which should make true love run smooth, 
and this little romance turn into a veritable idjd. 

As for Fred, a dozen fine, generous, honorable resolutions 
had been kindled within him by this interview with Dolly 
Kent. What a glorious girl she was ! how generous, how 
noble, how sympathetic ! What a friend for Floy to have ! 
And then Fred determined he would write to Florence at 
once, that very night, and tell her what he felt, hoped, 
feared. His mood was exalted enough to make him elo- 
quent, and he felt sure his words must carry weight. 


206 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


Truly enough he was at his best when, sitting in the 
room prepared for him at old Baker’s, he wrote the letter ; 
but the practical side of the question was not forgotten. 
He told Floy what Dorothy had said of the General’s inter- 
est in him, and how much it might mean if only she would 
bid him hope. And then having finished the important 
letter, Fred, poor fellow, sat until the winter’s morning 
dawned, thinking of Floy’s perfections, what such a girl 
would “ make of him,” how much better in every way he 
meant to be now with her, if she would, to “ help him.” 

He was to be away early, but not before he had again 
plied Evvy with every persuasive argument on the subject 
of Mrs. Hildreth’s visit. For a long time she refused to 
admit anything. At last, whether from impatience or a 
real desire not to be, as he said, so “ very disagreeable,” she 
departed to her room in the attic and returned with a scrap 
of dirty looking paper in her hand. 

‘‘ This is all I’m a-goin’ to say,” Evvy remarked. “ Here’s 
the name and address of the woman she met here.” And 
holding the paper toward him, Evvy added ; “ I’d reasons 
of my own for keepin’ it.” 

Fred seized the scrap — read and carefully copied down 
the following name and address : 

‘^Mrs. Leonard, 

Hillstown (Post Office), 

West Co., Conn.” 

An address was certainly very tangible. Altogether 
Frederick felt justified in giving Evvy a dollar bill, which 
he told her to spend for a Christmas present, and went 
away thoroughly satisfied with his visit — especially as old 
Baker promised to see him within the week, arrange about 
the “ thousand,” and explain that admirable and safe busi- 
ness investment to Tom Hines and himself. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


‘‘ YOU DO EVERYTHING.” 

“ Now then, girls, listen ; how is this for a list ? ” 

Dolly lifted her head from the page of a note-book, 
across which her pencil had been moving carefully the last 
fifteen minutes. The “ quartette,” as Mrs. Anderson called 
them, were established in the bright drawing-room of the 
doctor’s house one stormy morning, which they had set 
apart for a council over Dorothy’s Christmas party at The 
Glen. General Bering had given his ward carte-blanche 
in the matter of the week’s festivities, and from the hour 
it had been settled as an event really to be, both households 
had, as Mrs. Hale expressed it, “ simmered with excite- 
ment.” The plans for the holiday had to be mapped out, 
then came the important question as to who should be the 
invited guests. 

It was really a matter requiring prudence, skill, and not 
a little tact to bring together a house party which should 
be entirely congenial and harmonious for five or six days 
in the country, part of which might prove stormy, and 
many had been the consultations with Mrs. Anderson be- 
fore Dolly had made out anything like a list which would 
be likely to hold good. 

“ Well then,” said Sybil, lead off ; who stands first ? ” 

“The most difficult people of course,” laughed Dolly, 
and she read as follows: “Mrs. Yandeveer, Ada, Noel 
Bryan (her cousin), Alice Throgmorton, Dr. Herman Lee, 
Mr. Le Mesurier, Baby Gildersleeve, Mrs. Dick Stanton. 
How’s that ? They’re all jumbled, but I think it’ll do.” 

2or 


208 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


“Tell me,” said Honor, who was loungingin the window, 
vainly endeavoring to make Sybil’s most aged dog. Bet, go 
through the latest trick — “I know the Vandeveers, of 
course ; but Noel Bryan — who is he? ” 

Emily laughed. 

“I’d like him to hear the question,” she observed, “I 
know why Dolly has his name down. He is, socially, a 
sort of universal genius ; can do anything from getting up 
charades to tricks with cards.” 

“ A sort of unsalaried buffoon ? ” 

“ Oh no, not that ; he is far too fine, but he has really a 
great knack about doing well many things — well Donald 
Fraser would despise.” 

“Alice Throgmorton I’ve met twice,” reflected Honor. 
“ I’m trying to see where she comes in. Oh, I know ! ” 
she added, with a swift smile in Dolly’s direction. “ Mr. 
Fraser asked you to invite her.” 

“ And very glad indeed I am to do it,” declared Dolly. 
“I don’t suppose, with that awful aunt of hers, the girl 
ever knows what it is to have a nice time.” 

“ How is her aunt so dreadful ? ” 

“ Oh, how would you say, Emmie ?” 

“ Simply in existing at all,” said Sybil. “ She has no 
right to live, that woman ! No white slave ever led such 
a life as that girl, and fancy its being Don Fraser who 
found it out long before we did. They are by no means 
rich people. Honor, but fairly well off ; and yet Mrs. Throg- 
morton makes Alice fairly earn her bread by the sweat of 
her brow. The girl does everything, from making her own 
and all the other’s clothes to reading aloud hours to her 
uncle, and taking care of that cross sick child. I am glad 
she’s to be asked.” 

“Well — Baby Gildersleeve. Needless to describe that 


YOU DO EVERYTHING. 


209 


seraphic young person. I suppose she is expected to amuse 
Mr. Le Mesurier ? ” 

“Well, Baby is a great favorite of the General’s,” 
pleaded Dolly, “ and also of Mrs. Hale’s, and then so 
adorably pretty for the tableaux. Besides ” 

“ What — what, Dolly ? ” Honor laughed. 

“ I think,” said Dolly, trying to look very sedate, “ Al- 
fred likes her particularly.” 

There was a shriek from the others in wild chorus. 

“ Alfred ! Jinks / ” cried Sybil. “ Why, he simply 
loathes her.” 

“ No, no, Sybil,” declared Dolly laughing ; and Emily 
added, “ Indeed I think Dolly is partly right. He cer- 
tainly does not dislike her.” 

“ Oh, my heavens ! ” ejaculated Sybil. “ I always knew I 
wasn’t particularly clever or intellectual or anything at all ; 
but the dear knows I’m simply a monument of sense be- 
side Baby Gildersleeve. And what do the General and Mrs. 
Hale see ” 

“ I don’t know,” protested Dolly. “ I guess it is because 
of her mother or grandmother or something ” 

“ Fancy caring for her because of her ancestors. Well, 
any way she certainly is lovely to look at, and we needn’t 
listen when she talks.” One good thing rejoiced Sybil ; “ I 
won’t look quite such a fool while she’s around.” 

“ Well then, Herman Lee. Needless to inquire ; we’ll 
need a major domo and all that sort of thing ; first gold- 
stick-in-waiting ; then Mrs. Dick Stanton — nicest woman 
in New York. On the whole,” said Dolljq closing her note- 
book,' “ I scarcely think for a house party we could do 
better ; do you, girls ? ” 

“ No,” was chorused. Sybil poked the fire a little 
noisily, and then inquired ; “ and of course the Beck- 
14 


210 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


ford people will sail in and out. How about tbe Hil- 
dreths ? ” 

A faint color was in Dolly’s cheeks at the question. She 
had not betrayed Fred’s confidence of course, although in 
a letter, that morning received, he had given her permission 
tb do so. But she had determined to enjoy “bursting ” the 
bit of news upon the girls, and here was her favorable 
moment. 

“ Oh, the Hildreths of course said Dolly soberly. “ Es- 
pecially as Floy is now of great consequence. Girls, pre- 
pare for the worst. My Freddy, as Honor once called him, 
has laid his hand and heart at Floy’s feet and — been 
accepted ! ” « 

, The announcement was a veritable surprise. 

“ What? ” said Honor slowly. She put the old pug down, 
and walked over to the sofa where Dolly was seated. “ I 
can’t believe it. What has influenced her ? ” 

“ It is to be hoped,” laughed Dolly, “ that affection for 
Fred had something to do with it.” 

“ I scarcely know her,” Emily obsei’ved. “ But, some- 
way I fancied her mother had other aims. I don’t know,” 
added Emmie hurriedly, dreading as usual lest she should 
wrong any one in judgment or speech. “Perhaps, of 
course, this is just what they will like.” 

“ Fred wrote me this morning,” explained Dolly. “ I 
must tell you that when I saw him in Johnsburg, he said he 
was going to try his luck — but of course I couldn’t speak 
of it then.” 

“ What does the General say?” Sybil inquired. 

Dolly laughed. 

“ I only had chance for a word or two with him, but as 
he has taken one of his violent fancies to Fred, I think he 
is well enough pleased. At least he at once suggested that 


YOU DO EVERYTHING. 


211 


Mr. Sanders inquire if the position in the West Reading 
office is vacant.” 

“ Frederick’s fortune is made,” remarked Honor. Well, 

I always gave the Hildreths credit for shrewdness.” 

“Really, Honor,” exclaimed Holly, “you are too sus- 
picious of poor Mrs. Hildreth.” 

“ I know ; she can’t help having her eyes set too near her 
nose or that mean mouth. It isn’t that,” said Honor idly. 
“ And of course I ought not to feel and speak quite as badly 
as I do. All the same — well — ask Alfred Thorndyke what 
he thinks.” 

“ But even Alfred Thorndyke isn’t infallible,” laughed 
Holly, well aware how much she regarded his opinion. 

“ But at the same time,” said Emily gently, “ I’ve seldom 
known Alfred quite wrong in his judgment of people. 
Father says he would take his opinion against twenty 
others.” 

“ The legal instinct,” said Sybil. “ Long ago, I remem- 
ber his high mightiness saying to me, ‘ My dear Sybilla, 
let me give you a piece of advice. Never try to be clever, 
or learned, or anything of the kind ; to begin with, your 
nose is hopelessly against you ; then you never could suc- 
ceed.’ ‘ What shall I aim at,’ I inquired, ‘ except being good. 
Of course I’ll struggle in that direction.’ He surveyed me 
critically, and then said calmly: ‘Well, simply let nature 
take its way.’ I was never entirely sure what he meant, 
but it is the plan I’ve been following, and it’s come so easy 
I’ve respected his powers of penetration ever since — for 
you must admit my nose is against me ; and then I never 
tried to be clever but once, and Alfred’s criticism had a 
point then.” 

“ Did you ever try ? ” laughed Emily. 

“ Oh, yes, my dear,” said Sybil serenely. “ Is it possible 


212 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


you have forgotten the night I distinguished myself with 
the Yale professor? lie was raving madly about Dante. 
Well, I thought it would be too dreadful not to have some- 
thing to say, and so I remarked I thought his Paradise Lost 
perfectly beautiful, and it was so sad to think of his being 
blind.” 

“ Sybil,” exclaimed Emmie, " you did it on purpose.” 

“ My child, would j^ou have had me pinned to a sofa by a 
thin man with pale straw-colored hair and glasses a whole 
evening, while such as Will Fowler and Noel Bryan were 
waiting to bid me to the dance ? Not I. No Dante, if you 
please, for this person, when there’s anything livelier to be 
had. Besides, I proved our darling Alfred to be in the 
right.” 

“ I remember that row,” said Emily. “ He actually went 
away and said Dr. Anderson’s girls were very uneducated.” 

“ Served him right,” said Sybil. “ He’d take very good 
care to let me alone next time. But oh, Dollikins, now — 
how are we all to go and do and be and everything else ?” 

Sybil curled herself up at Dolly’s feet, rested her pretty 
fair head against her knee, and looked the perfectly happy^ 
idle, good-natured little butterfly she was. To lose patience 
with Sybil for so thoroughly enjoying her ease, so thor- 
oughly enjoying life, would have been impossible ; and yet 
there had to cross Emily’s mind now and again a faint 
wonder like a fear, as to what would happen if anything 
were really to disturb this perfectly contented, charmed ex- 
istence of her petted sister. Who, indeed, could foresee 
the result ? 

‘‘ Why,” said Dolly, with one hand caressingly on the 
soft waves of Sybil’s hair, ‘‘ I believe Emily and I are to go 
up there a day or two in advance — then the day after 
Christmas all of our own home part}^ start together. The 


'' YOU BO EVEEYTIimO. 


213 


others will arrive during the afternoon. Last evening the 
boys and I sketched out a sort of plan' for the different 
days’ amusement, but of course we can’t be sure of follow- 
ing any set programme ” 

‘‘ Only the tableaux,” said Sybil. ‘‘ Oh, yes. Donald is 
in his element, and really he has designed some lovely 
things. They will come off Wednesday evening, you 
know ; that will break the week nicely. Well, I only 
hope it will be successful and happy.” 

“Of course it will,” said Honor. “Think of the ele- 
ments which are to combine. Dolly, it’s one o’clock. The 
General will be waiting lunch, won’t he ?” 

Dolly bent to kiss Sybil’s fair unclouded brow, and stood 
up. She had more on her mind than preparing for the 
Christmas party. It had been a source of pain to her that 
she could not ask Miss Dearborn to be one of her guests, 
but that was impossible ; and added to the regret was the 
fact that she could not even brighten the little lady’s Christ- 
mas as much as she desired, owing to her loan to Fred 
Marston. To use the General’s money, or rather to make 
purchases on his credit, for her cousin was out of the ques- 
tion with Dolly’s fine sense of honor, and all that she could 
do was to spend as much of her special allowance as possi- 
ble, on a fine comfortable, fur- trimmed cloak, which she had 
already despatched to her cousin’s house, aware that, as it 
was needed, she could not object to anticipating the date. 

Dolly did not regret her generosity, but merely lamented 
what it entailed ; and now, in view of Fred’s successful woo- 
ing, she felt sure his troubles would soon be at end ; the 
General would procure him a good place in the head office 
of the West Reading ; he would marry Florence very soon, 
and all go happily and well. 

The General was in his study after lunch when Dolly 


214 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


asked admittance +0 discuss the news of the morning, and, 
if possible, adva^tce those vague “ interests ” of the Hil- 
dreths which seemed now to take a more tangible shape 
since Florence was actually to be married. The old 
soldier was in excellent humor. Fred Marston had written 
to him in precisely the spirit he liked ; a mingling of 
deference and pride in associating himself with any relation 
of General Bering. Indulgent to a whimsical degree in 
certain ways, the old man was as unreasonably arbitrary in 
others ; and to have his advice disregarded annoyed and 
prejudiced him, while to have anything like a command 
disobeyed, subjected the individual to a complete court- 
martial in his good opinion. Dolly’s attitude had so far 
thoroughly satisfied him. She had plenty of spirit, no 
servility, but the utmost consideration for his wishes, even 
when they appeared to her most capricious. She took her 
stand in business matters just as he liked ; went over 
everything with him ; listened to his plans ; discussed 
details even where investments she did not understand were 
concerned, and while she showed remarkable sagacity for a 
girl of her years, never obtruded any opinion which clashed 
with his. There was no mawkishness about her either ; 
she accepted Iiis generosity as a daughter might, showing 
her appreciation and gratitude precisely as she would to a 
loved parent, and, watchful though he had been, the old 
man had failed to detect the slightest hint of that deceit, 
or dissembling, which had so often foiled his schemes for 
personal happiness, liis most generous and affectionate 
desires, in the girl he had taken into his home and heart. 

Nothing absolutely definite had ever passed between them 
as to Dolly’s position in the future, in the event of his 
death ; the old man of course regarded it as arranged. 
Yet the fact wa^ that he had not yet signed a new will 


YOU DO everything:^ 


215 


ti 


made after lie liad seen tliis second Dorothy Kent, linger- 
ing about it more from one of those curious instincts of re- 
luctance toward deciding for a whole future which often 
governs tlie old in such matters, than from any dread of 
disappointment where Dorothy was concerned. He assured 
himself often that he was only waiting to see how she 
undertook certain responsibilities he was putting on her 
youthful shoulders, or that he preferred to leave her 
wholly untrammelled. But in very truth was there not just 
a shadow of his constitutional tendency to doubt lurking in 
this delay ? That Dolly was not wholly sure of her ground 
would have been proven, had she known the General had 
only drafted a new will and hesitated to sign it. Although 
never even to herself had she put the doubt into words, she 
would have pronounced upon it then in a flash. Perhaps 
this undefined feeling was what lent a certain spirit, an in- 
dependence, and at the same time a peculiar conscientious- 
ness to all her actions, especially where a question of using 
the General’s liberality was concerned ; for, where another 
nature would have inclined to spend all the more freely 
under the circumstances, Dolly’s instinct was to be more 
guarded, more judicious, more restrained. There never 
was a complete feeling of ownership or the right to en- 
croach upon a future of possible possession. 

“ Well, Dorothy,” said the General, in great good humor, 
“ so Master Frederick means to be one of the family?” 

“ Yes, sir,” beamed Dolly, ensconcing herself in her own 
special chair at the General’s fireside. ‘‘ And now,” appre- 
ciating his word, “what shall I write Florence we are 
going to do for her ? ” she looked at him quizzically. 

“ Oh, ho ! that’s what she’s up to, is it. Miss Sly- 
boots ? ” he wheeled around from his table and regarded 
Dorothy with affectionate indulgence. “ Dolly,” he said 


216 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


suddenly, “ why don’t you come begging for 3murself some- 
times ? It’s always coaxing this and that and the other out 
of me for other people. Why don’t you say, ‘ Cousin 
Angus, put a hundred thousand dollars into the bank in my 
name ’ — eh, little woman ? ” 

“ That’s all right,” said Dolly, with a quiet smile. 
‘‘ You — you do everything, and more than I need, for 
me.” Her eyes were full of sweet gentleness. 

“ Don’t you ever wonder what you’ll do when you’re 
alone in the world ? ” he queried brusquely. 

Dolly was silent half a moment. Then she said quietly : 

“ Sometimes ; not often, sir. I don’t want to think of 
such a time. Please don’t talk of it.” 

“ Humph ! ” He looked gravely at the pretty girlish fig- 
ure in the low chair, the fine brave young face, so wonder- 
fully like and yet so entirely unlike the Dorothy for whom 
she had been named ; since the squire’s sister, the beautiful 
cherished darling of the General’s home so long ago, had, 
he Avell knew, lacked the earnestness, the strength, which 
gave this Dorothy's face its nobility and greatest charm. 
The gray eyes looking into his now were strangely like in 
form and color, in their dark fringes, their finely pencilled, 
straight brows, to the eyes of the other one, yet here was a 
look which could challenge an emergency in which charac- 
ter, purpose, endurance were concerned. The eyes so long 
closed in death had been childishly lovely, childishly yield- 
ing in their soft gentle glance. “ So you feel quite con- 
tented, little girl,” he went on, “ with nothing of your own ? 
Oh, I forgot,” he smiled shrewdly, “ you are a woman of 
property and income. By the way, don’t be in a hurry to 
spend til at money from the Homestead. You ought to be 
able to start a bank-book on your own account with that.” 

Dolly averted her face swiftly, and her heart gave a 


“ YOU DO EVERYTHING. 


217 


quick throb. It would not do to continue this topic, and 
she hastened to say : 

“ Well, Cousin Angus, how about Florence? What shall 
I write her ? ” 

“ Well, if she’ll act sensibly, not fiddle-faddle and keep 
putting Fred off. I’ll do well by her. They want to send a 
responsible person out to Mexico to make some inquiries 
for the company. Now if Florence will marry Fred in 
January and start out with him, he shall have a good sal- 
ary and their expenses, and you can tell her, you are free 
to attend to her wedding things. Now, will that suit your 
grasping little mind ? ” 

Dolly beamed her thanks. It was really more than she 
had hoped for, and she hastened away to find Honor and 
concoct the right sort of a letter to Florence and Fred. In 
spite of all her disdain of the Hildreths, Honor was quite 
girl enough to enjoy planning anything so exciting as the 
General’s carte-blanche permission suggested, and before the 
letter had gone she was quite as anxious as Dolly that the 
wedding should come off prettily at The Glen, perhaps 
before they all returned to New York for the rest of the 
season. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


AT THE GLEN. 

The beams of a brilliant wintry sunshine lighted the 
parlor at the River House one morning, soon after Fred- 
erick’s double “success” in life was an accepted fact, 
showing the room in a fine state of tidiness. Miss Jane’s 
commanding figure dominating a scene which, if a trifle sug- 
gestive of her rather military discipline, at all events showed 
that the new rule was kept up, and order reigned where 
chaos had previously held sway. 

Miss Jane occupied a huge easy chair before the fire, and 
while she stitched remorselessly on the seams of a plaid 
wool skirt for Anna Maria, that young person, on a small 
bench at her side, was going through the sort of oral lesson 
which took place regularly, or, as Miss Jane always said, 
“ wind or weather,” as though it was a performance which 
was dependent on the elements with most of teachers. 
Winifred, in one window, was diligently seaming a sheet, 
casting anguished glances now and then toward The Glen, 
while Xona, at the pretty secretary Dolly had made clear 
was her special property, was casting up accounts, now and 
then referring to Miss Jane for assistance. 

“ Twenty cents for hominy, my dear ! ” exclaimed that 
lady suddenly, “ in four days ! That must be stopped ! 
Make a note of it. Less hominy. Now, Anna Maria, who 
did you tell me discovered America ? ” 

“ I didn’t tell you,” observed Anna Maria calmly. 

218 


AT THE OLEN. 


219 


“ You are right. I should have said, who discovered 
America ? ” 

Anna Maria yawned. 

“ A yawn at such a question ! ” exclaimed Miss Jane. 
“ Anna Maria Marston, stand up ! What are you ? ” 

“ A girl,” remarked Anna Maria. 

“ But are you a Russian, or a Turk, or perhaps a wild 
African ? What’s your country? ” 

‘‘ Oh, ’merica ! ” said Anna Maria, stifling a giggle. 
Say, Aunt Jane, whafs a wild African ? ” 

“ Terrible child,” said Miss Jane, “ search the jungles for 
the answer. Now, then, you are an American and you 
don’t know who discovered your country ? ” 

“ Well,” grumbled Anna Maria, ‘‘ I don’t care.” 

Miss Jane forthwith picked up a slate, and in huge letters, 
extending the whole length, and making the pencil squeak 
painfully, wrote ‘‘ Christopher Columbus.” Then, handing 
it to Anna Maria, bade her go into a corner, and say it over 
and over until desired to stop. Nona’s head ached, and she 
felt nearly wild as Anna Maria, in a corner right at her elbow, 
kept muttering “ Christopher C’lumbus, Christopher C’lum- 
bus,” more and more rapidly and incoherently ; but, as she 
knew, interference with Miss Jane’s peculiar methods of 
instructing her small niece was out of the question. The 
account books had to be made up, her special duty was the 
marketing, and if she attempted it in her own room it 
would only result in having the whole thing to do over 
later in Miss Jane’s presence ; moreover, since the new 
regime^ fires were not allowed in any but the actual living 
rooms, which obliged the girls to spend their mornings as 
a rule directly under their aunt’s eye. 

Miss Marston had proved, as Mrs. Hale predicted, a cap- 
ital “ manager.” Perhaps Nona and Winnie felt at times 


220 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


a longing to escape even into the confusion of the old da3^s 
when no part of the house was ever really habitable ; but 
the perfect regularity and order, the carefully contrived 
expenditures, had resulted in a clean, comfortable home 
which Mr. Mai’ston and Fred thoroughly appreciated, and 
Nona of course enjoyed, while if the good lady’s methods 
were at times peculiarly trying, especially to Nona, there 
could be no question whatever of her kindly heart and 
desire to make all things work for the general good. 

Since Miss Marston’s arrival, however, Nona had realized 
not alone her dependence, but the fact that she was of no 
real use in her uncle’s household, at all events by no means 
a necessity', and knowing his limited means the thought 
had become painfully oppressive. She had wondered the 
last week what Honor Kent would advise on the subject, 
and decided to take the very first opportunity of consulting 
her and Doroth3^ She could teach fairly well she felt sure, 
having assisted more than once in the school where slie 
had spent so many years, and perhaps, with a little help 
from Dolly and people like the Andersons, a situation could 
be found. 

“ There,” exclaimed Nona, with a sigh of relief, closing 
her books and locking them away, “ I am going over to 
see if Dolly has arrived.” She stood up, glancing a trifle 
anxiously at Miss Jane, it being one of that lady’s pecu- 
liarities to alwa3^s have something especial for Nona to do 
directly she announced any plan of her own. Miss Jane, 
however, was absorbed in Anna Maria’s historical debate 
with herself, the “ Christ’pher C’lumbus,” having now 
become “ Criscumbus Criscumbus,” and Nona escaped un- 
checked, hastily wrapping herself in a warm shawl and 
tying a nubia about her head, making her way b3^ the lane 
and the side path to The Glen. 


AT THE GLEN. 


221 


Miss Kent was in her room, Mrs. Moper, who admitted 
Nona, explained, and a moment later came a summons from 
Dolly, asking her visitor to come directly upstairs. 

Nona flew. It was delightful to be once more over here: 
to see Dolly’s bright, kind face, feel the pressure of her 
hands, hear her sweet, clear voice again, and Emily Ander- 
son seemed by no means so much a “young lady of fashion” 
as she had once fancied. The girls were in the room across 
the hall from Dolly’s bedroom, which had been furnished 
prettily as a “ sanctum,” such as she and Honor planned. 
A cretonne of India blue on a white ground formed furni- 
ture covering and hangings, with dotted muslin inside in 
the windows. Some easy-chairs of warmer texture, cosy 
tables, a cabinet or two, and, of course, a piano — one which 
had been rescued from the attic and put in order — bright, 
pretty pictures, all conspired, in the glow of a cheerful 
Are, to make the newly arranged boudoir charming, and, as 
Dolly had intended it should, cosily cheerful. 

“ Nona dear ! ” Dolly exclaimed, greeting her. “ The 
very one I wanted to see. Now sit down, and tell us all 
about everything,” and Dolly removed Nona’s rather dingy 
wraps as she spoke, and wheeled a chair toward the fire. 

“ Fred’s affairs first, I suppose,” laughed Nona. “ Oh, 
Dolly, it was such a surprise ! And then his getting that 
position ! Uncle Will said he was sure it was your doing.” 

“ And Florence ?” queried Dolly. 

“ Oh, she behaves beautifully. Aunt Jane treats her 
like a princess. She was rather upset, I fancy, at the idea 
of the wedding coming off so soon ; but it is all right now, 
and yesterday she told me several of her plans.” 

“ She and her mother are coming here to tea to-night,” 
said Dolly. “I suppose I will hear it all then. Nona, you 
look pale, dear. Are you quite well ? ” 


222 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


Emily had disappeared into the adjoining room, and 
Nona answered frankly, “ Not very ; but it is only worry, 
I think.” She hesitated a moment, then rushed into the 
topic absorbing her every leisure moment. Dolly listened 
in sympathetic silence. She could understand precisely 
what her friend felt. 

“Nona,” she said eagerly, “I will think out something, 
I promise you. Don’t let it weigh on your mind. I want 
you to feel perfectly free and happy this Christmas time. 
We will talk it all over afterward, and I am sure there will 
be something. I quite agree with you. I understand 
how you feel.” 

The afternoon sped by. Nona was drawn into Dolly’s 
councils with Emily as to the disposition of the various 
guests, arrangement of the rooms, etc., and when Dolly 
went away for a long confab with Mrs. Moper, Nona ahd 
Emily had a talk in the twilight, which revealed to the lat- 
ter so much of what Donald Fraser had told her of his 
cousin that her interest was keenly aroused, and she deter- 
mined that the young girl’s laudable ambition should be 
helped in any direction possible by her mother and herself. 
Naturally the talk drifted to Dorothy, the young mistress 
— hostess — of the house. Nona’s eyes glowed as she 
told Emily what the young girl had already “been to her.” 

“And so many girls,” said Nona, “in Dorothy’s place 
would give one a feeling of their superiority or prosperity. 
I don’t know just what it is, but Dolly is my ideal of 
what a princess royal ought to be. She dispenses so liber- 
ally, she rules so well, and yet she is so perfectly free from 
anything petty or small.” 

Emily smiled. “I wish you could see her in Homer 
Street,” she said. “Yesterday she was happy as a queen 
distributing Christmas presents to our poor people down 


AT THE QLEK 


223 


there. Ah, Miss Marston; isn’t it because Dolly’s heart, 
her soul are so true ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Nona ; oddly enough her thoughts flew to 
Honor. 

“ My cousin Donald says Miss Honor Kent is much bet- 
ter,” she said presently. 

Emily looked surprised. “ Did Mr. Fraser write that ? ” 
she asked. 

Nona smiled. “ Oh, yes ! he writes me a great deal about 
her. He knows how much I admire her.” 

Emily liad some shrewd reflections over this while she 
dressed for tea. Fraser had impressed her as regarding 
Honor only with pitying compassion ; of course he was 
artist enough to admire her exquisite sort of beauty, but 
beyond that she had never supposed his liking to have 
gone. Would she mention this to Dolly ? Emily decided 
not. They were all to have a happy, unrestrained week of 
country life. Donald was to be there all the time; Alfred 
to come back and forth. Certainly it would be unwise to 
disturb the present untrammelled sort of relations, and Dolly 
might betray it if she suspected there was anything of 
deeper feeling concealed beneath Donald’s rather brusque 
manner toward Honor. 

The Hildreths were in the drawing-room when she went 
downstairs, and Floy’s peculiar beauty, if such, indeed, it 
could be called, almost startled Emily as she greeted her. 
It was two years since she had seen her ; years in which 
Florence had outgrown the angularity of her very young 
girlhood ; the sallowness of tint, replaced now by that 
clear ivory whiteness, with a glow like the pomegranate 
now and then touching her cheeks. She was looking and 
feeling particularly well this evening. The turn of affairs 
suited her admirably. She was really fond of Fred, whose 


224 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


belief in her was more even to the girl than his affection ; 
the General’s indorsement of the engagement, his liberality, 
Fred’s position, as a clerk of importance enough to be sent 
to Mexico on private business, all flattered her vanity and 
suggested a future in which there might be the social tri- 
umphs she craved ; and at all events she was conscious of 
being at last in a position among her girl friends where she 
could take the lead as a bride-elect; the only “engaged” 
one among them. 

Mrs. Hildreth was talking eagerly, anxiously to Dolly, 
when Emily sat down by Florence, who had her usual lan- 
guid manner, but was quite ready to be congratulated and 
asked questions. The carte-hlanche permission about the 
trousseau was the topic between Mrs. Hildreth and Dor- 
othy ; the widow was genuinely touched by the evident 
pleasure General Bering’s liberality afforded his ward. 

“ I think, my dear,” she was saying, “ as he told you to 
get what you liked, it would be better if you bought the 
things. You see we could not so well purchase indis- 
criminately. Oh, my dear, I am sure you have been very 
kind.” 

“ Not at all,” said Dolly. “ I am only too delighted at 
the way things have turned out, if only Florence and Fred 
are happy.” 

“ Oh, yes, of course,” said Mrs. Hildreth absently ; she 
was wondering whether she might not best make a regular 
list and give Dolly. “ Things will have to be hurried 
if it comes off by the thirtieth of January, ” she added. 

“ But there is where the money will prove useful,” said 
Dolly. “ Because we can hurry the people up, you know.” 

And then supper was announced, and during the meal 
Frederick himself made his appearance. 

. Dolly had still much of the feeling, half -protective, half- 


AT THE GLEN. 


225 


confidential, which had resulted from their talk in Johns- 
burg, and as she welcomed him cordialh", her eyes were 
shining with pleasure. How delightful it was to be, even 
in a small way, the Good Fairy Godmother for those about 
one. Holly, after her guests had gone away, sat some 
time alone in her own room, in her favorite attitude on the 
rug before the fire, thinking out various schemes for the 
well-being of as many people, and her last reflections were 
that it was just as well she had so little that was personal 
to worry about, for that would certainly interfere with a 
number of her well laid and beneficent plans. 


15 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


“ now DARE I ? ” 

Honor Kent was pacing up and down the railway sta- 
tion at Beckford, the morning of December twenty-sixth, 
well wrapped up in her sealskins, with her cheeks pink 
as Mermet roses, her eyes sparkling with happiness, for 
was not her darling mother to arrive on the next train, 
the first of Dolly’s Christmas guests ? How long it seemed 
since she had seen her mother ; how much had happened, 
thought Honor ; then some one addressed her by name, and 
she turned to see Mr. Rainey’s earnest face near her. 

“ Oh, Miss Honor,” he said eagerly, “ Is Miss Kent at 
home? I have something very particular to see her 
about.” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Honor brightly. “And I know, Mr. 
Rainey, she wants to see you, because she was speaking to 
the General about it this morning.” 

The young man looked pleased. “ Then I will hurry on 
there,” he said. “ I wanted to see her before her friends ar- 
rived.” And touching his hat he was gone, striding away 
up the hilly street, while Honor watched him with a curious, 
wistful look in her beautiful eyes. Whatever her reflec- 
tions, their summing up was, “ I will talk to Mr. Fraser 
about it.” 

The train rushed in ; Honor scanned every window ; 
watched eagerly as the platforms crowded and the people 
alighted. No sign of Mrs. Kent, but a tall, broad- 
shouldered young man, with a brown beard and a pair of 


now DARE I? 


227 


keen hazel eyes, was to be seen, who sprang forward at 
sight of her, letting his grip-sack and other belongings drop 
to the ground, while he held out a big hand. 

“ How are you. Miss Honor?” Donald Fraser said cheer- 
ily. “ Your mother is coming on the next train. Sorry 
you’re disappointed. She had some business with Miss 
Dearborn. How are you all ?” 

The look accompanying the words meant plainly “ How 
are yow,” but Honor, who could scarcely conceal her dis- 
appointment, answered briefly, “ Oh, very well, thank you ; 
when is the next train ? ” 

“ Half-past eleven,” said Fraser. “ It is ten now.” 

‘‘ Then let us go on,” said Honor, trying to smile. “ I’m 
so disappointed ! However, I can come down again, I sup- 
pose, and I’m sure,” she added, remembering herself, “ we’re 
very glad to see you.” 

“You see,” said Fraser confidentially, “I thought the 
picture might need a touch or two, and I’d get a chance at 
it this morning.” 

“ We have the whole week,” said Honor. 

“ With that crowd, I wouldn’t count on it.” 

They were in the carriage now, and Fraser disposed of 
what looked like a canvas carefully. He had nearly 
finished a water-color head of Honor, intended for a New 
Year’s gift to Dorothy, and the sittings, which had been 
chiefly at Mrs. Anderson’s, had been rather irregular, as 
they could only occur while Dolly was away from home. 
However, the likeness was good, the work charming, and 
as Fraser was anxious to catch a certain serious, almost 
wistful look which he had once or twice of late detected 
on Honor’s face, sometimes in the curve of lier lips, but 
chiefly in her eyes, he had been glad that while the work 
went on she had chosen to talk of subjects more or less 


228 


FOB HONOR'S SAKE. 


serious in tlieir intention ; had questioned him about his 
life, his experiences, the various impulses which had led to 
the really practical Christianity he professed. She said 
nothing of how it all impressed her, but had given the 
young man many a clew to her own state of mind ; its 
indecisions, scepticism, chilling doubts. Fraser felt as 
though he had been permitted a sacred confidence, even in 
this, and respected her silences as much as the spoken 
words, while if now and then a ray of light did seem to 
strike her, he had been careful not to push the advantage 
too closely. He was content for a little while to wait. 

‘‘ Here we are,’’ exclaimed Honor, who had been rather 
silent. “ You never saw the house, did you, Mr. Fraser?” 

“ No ; isn’t it good ? ” he said, using the artist’s ex- 
pression, as he surveyed the beautiful, irregular mansion, set 
in much winter greenery and with the long conservatory a 
mass of bloom. “ No wonder Miss Dolly likes it up here.” 

“ No mother ! ” declared Honor, as they entered the 
large fi relit hall to find Dolly waiting. 

“ Only me,” said Fraser laughing. “ I don’t think Miss 
Honor has forgiven me yet.” 

“ Oh, how can you ? ” protested Honor, with very pink 
cheeks. “To tell you the truth,” she added, as they drew 
near the fire, “I was just thinking of you when you 
arrived.” 

Fraser looked down at her with beaming eyes, but pres- 
ently he said, with an odd laugh : 

“ It depends on what you were thinking.” 

“Never mind, it was nice enough; but it will keep. 
Now,” she added, “I’ll get Mrs. Hale to keep Dolly away,' 
and we can go up to the turret room, if you like, for a sit- 
ting.” 

Fraser evidently would have liked anything which in- 


now BARE If 


229 


volved a tete-^-tete with Honor, and followed her in a few 
moments upstairs to a small room in the turret, well 
warmed from the room below, the whole house having 
been arranged with a view to storing guests away in every 
nook and corner. Mrs. Hale was anxious to see the picture, 
but when Fraser uncovered and placed it on the easel her 
first expression was one of surprise, and she involuntarily 
glanced at Honor ; for the portrait seemed to her all ideal- 
ized. It was Honor, no doubt. Honor’s fair beautiful 
face, her radiant coloring ; the pale golden hair, the sap- 
phire-tinted eyes, the lovely coral lips. But had Honor’s 
face, thought Mrs. Hale, ever that look of soft wistful- 
ness, that tenderness of expression ? It was Honor as she 
might be in her dreams, in some hour of unwonted gentle- 
ness, wide, unfaltering beliefs. 

“ It is very beautiful,” said Mrs. Hale gravely. 

“Ah, but,” cried Honor smiling, but really chagrined, 
“ you don’t think it like me ! ” 

“ Oh, my dear^ protested Mrs. Hale. “ Only ” 

She was silent, and Honor, who knew that Fraser had 
caught something unusual in her expression, did not speak, 
and presently Mrs. Hale went away to engross Dolly’s 
attention and the sitting began. 

“Don’t you think,” said Honor, with a faint smile, “you 
had better — well — modify the portrait ? It isn’t pleasant 
to feel that every one will shake their heads because it 
flatters me so.” 

“It doesn’t flatter you,” said Fraser, without looking at 
her, but bending close to his canvas where he was making 
certain fine strokes. 

“Then why did Mrs. Hale speak in that way? She is 
rigidly truthful, but wouldn’t hurt the feelings of a fly if 
she could help it.” 


230 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


‘‘ It is like you,” said Fraser, still intent on his work, 
“but not your usual self. I’ve seen you look ahsolately 
like this, and it was this expression I determined to catch.” 

Honor was silent for a moment. Her e^^es strayed to 
the wintry landscape visible from the window near which 
she was sitting. Peaceful and still, the country lay wrapped 
in a mantle of snow, crisp and hard, the sunshine brilliantly 
clear. 

“ I feel like that sometimes,” she said presently. 

“ I know it,” Fraser asserted. “ Oftener than you like 
to admit. This,” — he touched the canvas with his stick, — 
^^this is Honor Kent really N He glanced at her with 
his friendly sort of smile. 

“And this,” said the girl, with a quick laugh, touching 
her pink cheek, “ is not Honor Kent, I suppose.” 

“ Oh, yes,” he returned. “ It is to-day ; I don’t know 
what it will be when all the fine company are assembled 
and she is on her metal for wit and brilliancy, and that 
peculiar tendency of hers toward sarcastic fun.” 

“ You are very provoking,” declared Honor, “ and now 
I shall not tell you what I was thinking when you arrived.” 

“Never mind,” retorted Fraser, unable to resist teazing 
her a little. “As you said, no doubt it will keep, and I’ll 
not forget to remind jmu of it.” 

“ It can as easily be forgotten,” said Honor, the little 
gleam of scorn he knew well coming back to her ej^es. 

“If you think so,” he said carelessly, and leaning back to 
contemplate his work, “tell me now; or, I wonder if I 
can guess ? ” 

“ Perhaps,” said Honor, more nettled by his indifference 
of manner than she cared to admit even to herself. “ Let 
me see if you are correct ? ” 

“You were thinking of our last conversation,” he said 


now DARE I? 


231 


quietly. ‘‘ You were saying to yourself that I had no right 

to say some of the things I did ” 

Honor interrupted him with a quick shake of her head. 
“Not quite that, Mr. Fraser. But I was thinking of 
our last talk. Only it was this way. You spoke as though 
deliberately I set myself against beliefs, against faith ” — 
she half averted her face, then remembering that she was 
a “ model,” turned back witli a swift, gentle smile — 
“ against what I would give worlds to possess as you and 
Dorothy and Emmie do — hope?'* 

There was almost a sob in her voice, and Fraser, pro- 
foundly moved and distressed, threw aside his brush, and 
rose quickly. 

“ Miss Honor ! ” he exclaimed, flinging himself in a chair 
nearer her. “ You say you would give worlds to possess 
it. Don’t think I try to preach, or that I mean anything 
in a canting way ; but have you tried the only sure way, 
have you asked for that hope you so truly desire ? ” 

A longing to touch the fair head Honor suddenly bowed 
upon the little table near her, compassionately, tenderly, 
surged within Fraser’s heart, and to see her stricken as he 
knew she was in soul and mind, made him miserable. He 
had been severe, trenchant, cutting, and had spared her 
nothing when he believed she was dallying with her soul’s 
needs ; governed merely by intellectual pride ; but of late 
he had known that it was a sore struggling to escape a 
cruel bondage ; panting for freedom which should mean 
peace ; and the young man, who, had Honor but known it, 
would have laid down his life to give her what would have 
brought her spiritual content, or to have made her strong 
and happy, felt oidy tenderness — now only deepest com- 
passion. 

“ Honor ! ” he said suddenly, bending toward* her and 


232 


FOR HONORS SAKE. 


speaking in a low, quick tone, too much agitated to re- 
member formalities, “ Look up ; do listen to me ! I went 
through what I believe you are suffering now ! Heaven 
only knows the misery it was ; the torture, the dumb 
anguish of my lonely, battling, striving soul. Every 
phantom of sophistry you can imagine rose to torment me 
— and besides I had other causes for mental disquietude. 
Some day, perhaps, I may tell you of them. Well, when 
I tell you that one only solution came, and I tried it, with 
a success for which I am, every hour of my life, really 
grateful, will it not help you a little toward seeking the 
same aid yourself ? ” 

There was the deep, vibrating cadence in his voice which 
had moved her so strangely tli at night in Homer Street, and 
Honor raised her eyes, the tone and words compelling her 
as to here answer him, if only by a look. 

‘‘Yes”; she spoke slowly, and he saw that she was 
shaken by some strong feeling. “ I know what you mean, 
Mr. Fraser ; you would have me pray. How dare I ? ” 

“ You can,” he said gravely. “ You must. It is the 
act of petition which is your part of the divine bargain. 
You must ash to receive.” 

“ And if I fail ?” She smiled pitifully. 

A joyous sort of look crossed Donald’s face. 

“ His word remains,” he said solemnly. “ You cannot 
fail.” 

They were both silent a moment ; then Honor rose, 
glancing at her watch. 

“ See how I have wasted your time,” she said, almost 
tearfully. “ But I will sit again some time very soon ; and 
you are too good.” 

She held out her hand involuntarily ; the slim white 
fingers trembled as Donald held them closely an instant in 


HOW DARE I? 


233 


his strong grasp, and the pearl ring she had ‘‘given lier- 
self” pressed painfully for an instant. The color deepened 
in her cheeks. 

“You deserve a confidence,” she said, lifting her eye with 
a very gentle look in them, “ and some day I will tell you 
why I wear that ring.” 

He held her hand lightly an instant longer, looking down 
at the little pearl-studded hoop circling her finger. 

“Yes,” he said at last, and meeting her eyes with a very 
earnest look in his own, “ I do deserve a confidence because 
I have your well-being always at heart.” 

“ Thank you.” She spoke hurriedly, and moved away. 
“ I like to feel sure of your friendship, your prayers.” 

Half an hour later Honor was in her mother’s arms at the 
depot, and then driving rapidly back to The Glen, but the 
glow on her cheeks and the light in her eyes were not only 
because of happiness in this re-union. She longed for 
further talk with Donald. The courage of his convictions 
was mastering that pride of hers which had so long rebelled 
against the humility which must be the root of Christianity, 
and that he, a man of the world, living and working among 
many who scoffed at what he held dear, should be ready 
and able to do his Master’s work and defend his mission, 
was a power beyond the argument of words. Honor felt 
it keenly. She liked to submit her judgment to one so 
strong and clear and logical as his, and in proportion to 
her desire to discuss these matters with him further was a 
shrinking from talks on similar topics with Thorndyke. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


AN UNEXPECTED SUMMONS. 

Oh, Aunt Jule, darling^'* exclaimed Dolly, hugging her 
aunt wildly. “ This is too lovely ! oA, how glad I am to 
see you.” 

Aunt Jule expressed her own satisfaction characteristi- 
cally, by untying her bonnet-strings and letting them fly 
while she calmly gazed about the wide beautiful hall into 
which Dolly and Honor led her. 

^^DoesnH that look natural ! ” declared Dolly, laughing. 
“ As long as I can remember anything. Aunt Jule, I can see 
you untie your bonnet when you wanted to take a good 
look at things.” 

“ TFeZ^,” pronounced Aunt Jule, “the things here seem 
very good to look at ! upon my word, girls, this is a lovely 
house.” 

“ Isn’t it ! ” said Honor. “ Mother, I’m a regular sybarite. 
Will you please have my room hung in pink satin before I 
go home ? ” 

“Humph,” retorted Mrs Kent, as they were going up- 
stairs. “ You may be thankful. Miss, if you get your old 
muslin curtains done up. Your father isn’t a swell New 
York doctor, please remember.” 

Honor’s room was invitingly ready for her mother’s re- 
ception and the girls were in great glee making her com- 
fortable, showing her everytliing, chattering, while they 
knelt one side of the easy chair she was finally seated in, 

234 


AN UNEXPECTED SUMMONS. 


235 


about the Christmas week festivities, the guests who would 
arrive that afternoon. 

“It’s so lovely to have you, Aunt Jule,” said Dolly, with 
her head on her aunt’s shoulder. “ For to tell you the 
truth, I feel, well sort of queer about taking the lead in 
everything. The General was so glad you could come, 
and he is so pleased about having all these people.” 

“Well,” said Aunt Jule, “I only hope I won’t be very 
countrified amongst them all. I used to know Jane Mars- 
ton quite well, and I can take refuge with her, I suppose.” 

“ Oh, Aunt Jule ! ” laughed Dorothy, “ as if you wanted 
Jane anybody as a refuge. No ! You’ll have on your 
best bib and tucker this afternoon, and I don’t doubt make 
even the ‘ gory ’ Mrs. Vandeveer, as the boys call her, feel 
small.” 

Dolly went away, presently, knowing that in the half- 
hour before lunch. Honor and her mother would enjoy a 
quiet chat ; and her own hands were full. The General 
had not been feeling very well. He dreaded a twinge of 
his old enemy, the gout, and Dorothy went first to his 
study to see if he had all his wants attended to. 

“ Well, young woman,” he said cheerily, though his foot 
was on a bench and slightly bandaged, “ so Aunt Jule has 
arrived ! I’ll see her afteiTunch. And now you are really 
about to take your place as hostess, Dorothy,” he added 
with a smile of peculiar meaning, half-sad, half-trium- 
phant. The one element he had found lacking in Dolly 
was the kind of social pride he felt /or her, and would have 
stimulated and cultivated in the girl herself. To know 
that she was about to receive and entertain a dozen people 
who ranked as leaders in the world where he wished “ his 
girl ” to be a bright particular star, pleased the old man 
more than he cared any one should see ; yet, as a question of 


236 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


social “ success,” Dolly did not seem capable of regarding 
the affair. It delighted her to think of the fun and frolic, 
the “good time” involved; but her real point of en- 
thusiasm had been over a project of Mr. Rainey’s, ^. e., 
that short as the time was, the tableaux might be given in 
a hall or the rooms of a large summer hotel, for the benefit 
of his suffering Mill-End parishioners, on Avhom the winter 
had been unusually severe. 

“ Do as you like,” the General had said ; “ but I think 
you had better discuss the question first with Mrs. Vande- 
veer. Remember you have your guests to consider.” 

“I think Mrs. Yande veer would approve of it,” said 
Dolly with a shrewd smile, well knowing that lady’s fond- 
ness for charitable “ entertainments ” under her special 
direction ; above all, where matters could be managed 
liberally. 

“ Every one will be here by four o’clock. Cousin Angus,” 
Dolly said now, after she had attended to one or two small 
matters in the room for her guardian, “ and I’ll try not to 
make you ashamed of me,” she laughed gayly, “ only — I’m 
afraid nothing will ever bring me up to the Yandeveer 
standard. I’ll never be a fine young lady of fashion. 
Cousin Angus.” 

“Well, little girl, be yourself,” the old man said, smil- 
ing. “ Now run away, you have plenty to do. Send my 
lunch in here, and I don’t think I’ll make my appearance 
until dinner time.” 

Dolly went away, pausing an instant or two in the hall- 
way to think over her various duties. Delightful as the 
prospect of the week ahead might be, Dorothy could not 
keep feeling a slight dread of certain elements involved. 
She had been entirely sincere in saying that she would 
never be “up” to the Yandeveer standard, and as she 


AN UNEXPECTED SUMMONS. 


237 


stood looking down into the great crackling fire the girl 
smiled softl}^ to herself, with a sort of thankful feeling that 
such was indeed the case. She had seen enough of the life 
led by merely “ society ’’girls in New York to dread drift- 
ing into the channels that, as she Avas well aware, all ended 
ill but one direction : the satisfying of some Avorldly or 
social ambition ; the slavish adherence to fashion and con- 
ventionality. She could enjoy herself with the gayest ; 
make merry with the light-heartedness of youth and her 
own buoyant nature, and the sense of power and holding 
the reins of government, even in a small way, pleased and 
exhilarated her ; but Dolly’s whole heart and soul were 
attuned to something different from Avhat influenced the 
world in which, as she well knew, her guardian Avas ambi- 
tious to have her shine, and she could not help feeling per- 
plexed as to just where her actual duties lay. Where 
should be the dividing line ? Dolly turned away Avith a 
half-sigh, but feeling in some way as though this Aveek at 
The Glen might be fruitful in defining certain questions, in 
fixing certain limitations, and as she walked sloAvly toward 
the drawing-room, Simms appeared with a note for her from 
the cottage. 

The messenger was waiting, and Dolly read it hastily. 

It was from Mrs. Hildreth, and ran as folloAVS : 

My Dear Dorothy : 

I am anxious to see you alone on important and confidential busi- 
ness. Can you spare me half an hour at once, while Florence is out, 
and come down to the cottage ? 

Yours in haste, 

Hannah Hildreth. 

Dolly stood still for an instant, wondering what she 
could do. No doubt it was some question about Florence’s 
wedding. Mrs. Hildreth, she knew, was always more or 


238 


Fon HONOR'S SAKE. 


less mysterious ; of course she must go, and fortunately 
her absence would be the less marked, as they all knew how 
many details just now needed her special attention. There 
would be an excuse also in calling for an instant at Mrs. 
Rainey’s cottage with a message for her son. 

“ Tell the messenger it is all right, Simms,” she said at 
last ; and going upstairs to put on her outdoor garments 
she paused at Honor’s door to excuse her absence from lunch, 
and to say that she would probably be back before the 
meal was over. Then, not without a vague dislike of en- 
countering Mrs. Hildreth in a confidential or mysterious 
mood, she put on her things and went away, walking briskly 
down the hill and River Street to the widow’s cottage. 


CHAPTER XXXL 


A POINT OP HONOR. 

Alfred Thorndyke had promised to join Dorothy’s 
Christmas-week party on its first gathering, hut business for 
the General’s estate detained him in Xew York until the 
next morning, and then, to save time and conclude the 
matter, he went on to Beckport instead of stopping at The 
Glen station, found the builder whom he was to see about 
certain legal points under consideration, and then, as it was 
after one o’clock, sauntered up to the inn where Dolly had 
once lingered for an hour or two, and contrived to make 
out something of a lunch from the various small dishes with 
little “ dabs ” of meat and vegetables in them, which the 
airy young woman in attendance circled about a large, cold 
dinner plate. When he took out his cigar she smilingly 
inquired if he would like to go to the “pawlor” and 
ushered him across the chilly hall into the long room where 
Father Xoah and his flocks, in chromo, still hung in state. 

A fire was burning in a huge stove at the lower end of 
the room, and Alfred was moving in his leisurely way 
toward it, when he caught sight of two figures, and with a 
curious, unaccountable sense of dismay recognized one as 
that of Peter Baker, and the other — Dorothy Kent ! 

Alfred drew back ; why he scarcely could have told, for 
Dolly was so often in his thoughts that to see her at any 
moment ought not to have startled him ; and why the fact 
that she was talking eagerly and in low tones to Baker 
should have annoyed him, was equally perplexing, since 


240 


FOB HONOR'S SAKE. 


she might have met him here by chance ; might be refer- 
ring to the former painful transactions with the miser, 
which had surely been the primary cause of her father’s 
death. 

But Dolly’s lovely, noble face, as it was lifted to the old 
man’s, had a look of pleading — a wistful earnestness which 
he knew belonged only to her anxious moments, and Alfred, 
as he stood still an instant, felt almost unreasonably angry 
that the girl should have allowed herself to show such as 
old Baker these touching signals of distress. 

It was the work but of an instant further for Alfred by 
a quickly uttered “ Miss Kent ! ” to reveal himself and to 
cause Dorothy to start — look at him, while a burning flame 
of color swept across her tell-tale face. Old Baker turned 
leisurely, and looked at Thorndyke with his little ferret 
eyes, meaner than ever, it seemed to the young man, in their 
expression. 

“ Miss Kent,” Alfred repeated, forcing himself to outer 
calm, and coming forward with his hand outstretched, but 
his expression the severe, “disapproving” one Dolly well 
knew, “ I did not expect to meet you here. I am on my 
way to Beckford.” 

“ Yes ? ” said Dolly, smiling faintly and laying a very 
tremulous, gray -gloved hand in bis. “ I am very glad ; per- 
haps we can take the same train ? ” 

“ I will wait for you if not,” he said coldly, and thor- 
oughly annoyed, and inclined to be disgusted, he turned, 
and with the slightest sort of bow to old Baker, strode to 
the further end of the room where, out of hearing, he stood 
in the window like a gloomy sentinel doing some disagree- 
able but imperative duty. 

Dorothy’s voice, quick and eager, but low, scarcely 
reached him, and old Baker’s gruffer tones, with a half- 


A POINT OF HONOR. 


241 


sneer in them, made him angrier than ever, but of course, 
as he well knew, direct interference would be simply an 
impertinence, and he could only stand motionless, hut 
chafing interiorly, as all manner of possibilities, some very 
likely, some absurd, as to the result of this interview floated 
before his mind. 

Little as he knew personally of the old mone^'-lender, he 
thoroughly understood his character ; knew him to be 
shrewd, avaricious, vindictive where he had been the loser 
in any transaction, and thoroughly unscrupulous. That 
upward glance of Dorothy’s into Baker’s mean face had 
unquestionably revealed that she was in distress, and plead- 
ing about or for something, and Alfred, who had sworn 
to “watch over” the girl with the loyalty of a knight of 
old, even though he kept other feelings in check, and as 
far from her knowledge as possible, determined to win her 
confidence in this matter, and at all events put her on her 
guard. The sweetness, the nobility, the generous and high 
purposes of the girl’s nature, had unfolded themselves 
these past weeks of her “ heiress-ship ” to Thorndyke in a 
way that at times fairly intoxicated him with their charm, 
but he was too keen an observer not to have detected that 
there was danger to Dorothy herself in that touch of love 
of power which so far had had no bad results, because all 
of the girl’s schemes and plans and actions seemed to have 
been for the general good. It was not love of power over 
objects and matters outside of a woman’s province ; no, 
Dolly was too genuinely, sweetly, dependently, a woman 
for that ; yet it existed as part of her nature, had been 
fostered by every circumstance of her life, and in the 
present state of things might have control of her better 
judgments, since the General never seemed so happy as 
when seeing her “ mistress of all she surveyed.” Had there 
16 


242 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


been a trace of selfishness, a mean or even a worldly motive 
in any of the girl’s thoughts or plans or actions, this ele- 
ment might have been fatal to the peace of those around 
her, and injurious to her own higher needs, but as has been 
said, that boundless “ charity for all men,” that sweet fair 
graciousness of soul which made Dolly what she was, "lifted 
her beyond realizing any danger in her enjoyment of an 
executive faculty, used only for generous and kindly 
ends. 

It was in reality only ten minutes, but it seemed an hour 
to Thorndyke before he heard Dolly’s step coming nearer 
him and turned to find himself alone with her, freed from 
Baker’s annoying presence. For an instant both were 
silent. Alfred took no pains to conceal his disapproval, 
though it was veiled by a grave searching glance, and 
Dorothy’s eyes had the look of a frightened, disobedient 
child. 

The words rising to her lips, ‘‘ Oh, do not tell you met 
me here,” were checked not only by that terribly serious 
manner and expression of Alfred’s, but a shame that any 
action of hers needed concealment. Yet she must speak ; 
later, as she knew,mws^ contrive that he keep what had now 
become her secret. It was a miserable moment for them 
both, and Alfred felt, as an exaggeration of his annoyance 
and anxiety, almost as though Dolly had been deceiving 
him purposely in seeming to be so guilelessly transparent, 
so above subterfuge. 

“ It is none of my business, of course, Dorothy,” he said 
at last, and beginning to draw on his fur-lined gloves. 
“ But, in your interest, I feel bound to warn you against 
any dealings with that man. Surely you know best what 
he is.” 

Dolly’s face had been very pale, but a faint color 


A POINT OF HONOR. 


243 


tinged her cheeks quickly now, and she averted her face. 
Wliat must her old comrade think of her ? 

‘‘ I know,” she said, in a very low uncertain tone. Then, 
suddenly bringing her eyes back to the dark grave face 
before her, she exclaimed anxiously, “ Alfred, what will 
you say — what will you think of me if I tell yon that I can 
give you no explanation of this — this affair, and asJc you 
not to tell a living being you met me here, or saw me 
talking to Baker ! ” 

Clear young eyes, lips with their sweet lines depressed, 
voice, and manner, all appealed to Alfred’s leniency, as well 
as to those milder feelings which now and again almost 
forced him to expression, yet he was too thoroughly disap- 
pointed to let her sweetness, he told himself, govern better 
judgment. 

“ I would say,” he answered coldly, and with that peculiar 
smile of his which veiled contempt, Dolly was sure, “ that 
to begin with it is none of my business to think of your 
conduct at all ; at least to criticize it ; and as for not 
telling as you call it — why, I suppose of course you can 
trust to my honor.” 

Dorothy’s eyes blazed for an instant and her heart beat 
wildly. Had she felt less ashamed Alfred’s words and 
manner would not have stung her so, but she was too 
thoroughly conscious how this secret interview with a man 
she despised must look, how it would even sound in the 
telling, to be reproachful. What would she not have 
given to have told the whole story to Alfred, to have urged 
eagerly for his counsel ! But her lips were sealed, her 
honor had been appealed to, when she had pledged herself 
to the secrecy this service to Mrs. Hildreth required. 
Miserable as she felt when Alfred’s annoyance and disgust 
had suddenly revealed to her how it would appear to any 


244 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


one who knew what Baker’s conduct had been, above all 
to General Bering, Dorothy felt that to break her promise 
would be meanly dishonorable, and surely she might beg 
Mrs. Hildreth to let this be her last embassy of the kind. 

“ I do trust you,” she said at length, the anger in her 
eyes all dying out, and a look of unutterable sadness com- 
ing slowly into them. “ Perhaps you doubt me ; but 
Alfred, though I can explain nothing, it is because my 
sense of honor is involved.” 

In an instant a wild impulse made Alfred long to catch 
her hands in his, to beg of her to give him the right he 
craved to stand between her and all possible harm, all 
future misunderstandings. Could he have bidden her fling 
aside all the tokens of her wealth, her heiress-ship, to have 
been only sweet Dorothy Kent, the squire’s daughter, por- 
tionless save in the great wealth of her fair nature and 
loyal soul, the torrent of words Dolly would have listened 
to might have changed the destiny of both ; but as it was, 
the very look of her, standing in the window, in her 
rich velvets and furs, her lovely face framed in a great 
hat, one mass of costly plumes, the flash of rubies in her 
ears, the shimmer of jewelled bracelets drooping on her 
wrists, all seemed to defy and set aside as madness 
what seemed to the young man the only “ fair good ” upon 
earth ; and in his effort to crowd down what nearly blinded 
him there was a new coldness, Dolly, whose eyes were fixed 
mournfully upon him, did not fail to detect, in his voice 
and manner, and the chill she had felt that first evening at 
The Glen where he asked if she were changed, came back 
drearily, as if to stay forever in lier loving, generous heart. 

“ I must believe you,” he said quietly, and in a very low 
tone. “Because, Dorothy, to doubt you would be more 
pain than I care to take into my life. I conclude you are 
having some business transaction with tins old man, and if 


A POINT OF HONOR. 


245 


so I can only warn you it can mean but one thing — rob- 
bery and plunder. You are the best judge as to Avhether 
you have the right to keep such matters from the General. 
Of course Yhave no rights in the alfair at all, and I ought, 
I suppose, to apologize for even showing my annoyance. 
In future I will k^ow better. But, somehow, I feel 
as if perhaps we had only been playing at keeping up our 
old compact of perfect trust and frankness. We are 
certainly two different people now.” 

A look Alfred, for all his powers of discernment, could 
not interpret, swept across the face still resolutelj^, sadly 
turned toward him. It was the reflection of the feeling in 
the girl’s heart, as she answered gravely : 

“ I felt the change directly we met ! Is it only now 
you have realized it ? But Alfred, surely there can be 
kindness, even comradeship left?” 

hlo absolute refusal of the most, the best he could offer, 
would have seemed to Thorndyke clearer than these words, 
which to Dolly meant only the change in him. Naturally 
he read them in direct opposition to the girl’s intent, for 
every fibre in him, every feeling, was strained to an inten- 
sity which made him take a word or look as directly per- 
sonal ; and never in all his life would Thorndyke forget that 
moment when, looking at her, her peculiar nobility of look 
and bearing, the- charm of gracious womanhood which was 
only added to, not supplanting, the innocent simplicity of 
the almost childish days in which he had first known her, 
seeming emphasized by the commonplace, almost vulgar 
surroundings of the room in which they stood, he accepted 
once and forever the part assigned — the renunciation of 
what he now knew in spite of all his cool philosophies had 
really been a Aopg. And Dolly’s heart, beating slowlj^ and 
sadly, was saying Alas ! alas ! that after all these years of 
confidence and belief he doubts me ; despises me per- 


246 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


haps ; is giving me the chance to say ‘ good-b}^, old 
dreams ; good-by to truth and our castle building. We 
were silly, romancing children, we are worldly matter-of- 
fact man and woman,’ he thinks to say ! ” 

“ There must be both comradeship and kindness, Dolly,” 
said he, smiling with an effort at ch( fulness Dolh'^ quite 



misunderstood, and he held out his hancIT “ I would be a fool 
indeed if I did not appreciate the value of that ; and now,” 
as her fingers fluttered quickly away from his, “ we must 
hurry to our train. May I ask what you have done with 
your numerous guests ? ” 

The return to commonplace toj^ics was some relief ; yet as 
they went out into the sunny wintry streets, Dolly found it 
a little hard to answer in her ordinary tone. But she spoke 
cheerily : 

“ Oh, they are all plunged in excitement down at the 
hall, planning the tableaux. I slipped away on the express 
train, and as I really had business to attend to in the town, 
I am supposed to be there for a couple of hours,” the con- 
sciousness of new concealments made her falter for an 
instant, deepening as she remembered one part of her 
mission was yet to be fulfilled. They were nearing the 
depot, f'^cing which was the post-office. 

“ Alfred,” she said desperately, “ I have to go to the 
post-office — and,” with crimson-dyed cheeks, “ I must ask 
to go alone.” 

He said nothing ; by a slight gesture indicated his assent, 
and strode across to the platform of the little wooden 
station, where he would not even allow himself to look in 
Dorothy’s direction until she was actually at his side again, 
and then, with rather elaborate civility, he made her com- 
fortable in the train, thankful the journey occupied scarcely 
a quarter of an hour. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


A PKELIMINARY EEHEAESAL. 

Xo household in Beckford was more fluttered by the 
Christmas- week party than the Marstons’, and when word 
came to the girls and Miss Marston that they were to go 
down to the hall for a sort of a rehearsal of the tableaux, 
even Aunt Jane found it hard work to reduce Winifred to 
order and a proper state of calm. But at last they sailed 
away, Anna Maria, in what Nona pronounced to Honor a 
“terror” of a bonnet, holding Aunt Jane’s hand and won- 
dering if they were going to church. Such conjectures, how- 
ever, speedily ended. They were soon at the great deserted 
hotel where, however, the landlord had been prompt in 
warming the hall used for summer entertainments, as well as 
an adjoining parlor, and Miss Jane’s commanding figure in 
the doorway, with the very small child by the hand and the 
girls rather timidly following, caused a dozen of the animated 
company in the hall to turn around. Mrs. Vandeveer was, 
as Dolly predicted, in her element ; dictating, directing, 
managing, or thinking she managed, and as two or three 
people said in as many tones, “ Oh, the Marstons,” she 
turned from her inspection of some rich costumes to put 
up her eye-glasses and stare critically half an instant at the 
new-comers. The glasses here dropped. Turning her elab- 
orately coiffured and elegantly bonneted head to Mrs. Kent, 
she said in a low, significant whisper, “ Who are those peo- 
ple?” ‘ 

“Some of Dolly’s friends,” was Aule Jule’s prompt an- 

247 


248 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


swer as, detaching herself from the group, she made her 
way, bonnet-strings flying, across the liall to the door 
where the River House party lingered. 

Mrs. Vandeveer observed, with an inward shiver, that 
Mrs. Kent’s greeting of the large, dark-eyed, martial look- 
ing woman was very effusive, but she turned, hoping no in- 
troduction would seem necessary, to renew a discussion 
with Donald Fraser as to the costuming of the ‘‘ Sleeping 
Beauty ” tableaux. A judicious selection of subjects had 
been made, after considerable deliberation and examina- 
tion of resources, and Fraser’s rather too pronounced ideas, 
feeling ioT the more purely artistic, had been overruled by his 
counsellors like Mrs. Anderson and Alfred, who begged 
him to remember that subjects like “The Lady of Shalott” 
and “ Ronald of Dayre ” would not be half so interesting to 
the general public as scenes illustrating that with which 
they were all familiar. Certainly, the bit of “ Elaine ” 
which he strung together in four tableaux was delightful, 
although Mrs. Vandeveer sliook her head on the picture 
Fraser had spent his best energies on, illustrating that last 
most pathetic scene in the Lily Maid’s life, “and tlie dead 
steered by the dumb went upward with the flood.” Her ob- 
jections were overruled. She had not been quite sure it 
was proper to represent death, even in so poetic and beauti- 
ful a form. There were some humorous scenes, some pa- 
thetic but familiar ones from Dickens, others from old-time 
fairy tales, and several of original character, while Mr. 
Rainey had made a special request for two or three of a 
scriptural or religious character. Altogether, the affair 
had been so carefully chosen and rehearsed, Fraser’s artis- 
tic sense, reduced a little nearer to the ordinary mind, had 
proven so valuable, and the General’s purse-strings were so 
liberally opened that everything promised well, and the 


A PRELIMINARY REHEARSAL. 


249 


tickets had been disposed of rapidly; indeed, as soon as, the 
day before, Mrs. Rainey had gone about to announce what 
was to take place. There was a certain glamour, a curios- 
ity which was not without a tinge of awe, about the young 
mistress of The Glen, who was reported to be beyond 
everything in the way of wealth, loveliness, cleverness, and 
varied accomplishments ; and people who were not on 
visiting terms with any of the performers felt a certain de- 
gree of being at least “ near the rose ” by simply the pur- 
chase of tickets to the entertainment. Meanwhile, what 
would have been a very simple home amusement, had 
grown in proportions since it was to be semi-public, and a 
dozen or more new participants were pressed into service, so 
that the scene Miss Jane and her nieces came upon was 
very lively, thirty people or more being assembled, while a 
general air of excitement and flutter prevailed. 

: . “ So glad to see you. Miss Jane,” pronounced Mrs. Kent. 
“ And these are the girls ? ” There was what Dorothy 
would have called a genuine “Johnsburg” cordiality in 
Aunt Jule’s greeting, and Miss Jane began to thaw. 

‘‘ I believe we haven’t met in fifteen years,” she said 
energetically. “Well, we’ve both aged, but who can stand 
still?” 

“ True enough,” laughed Mrs. Kent, and she turned to 
lead the way across the room again, explaining that Dolly 
was in the town on business. Honor sprang forward to 
greet her especial friend Nona, and again Mrs. Yandeveer’s 
eye-glasses went up. “ Are they to take part ? ” she whis- 
pered to Fraser, one of her especial friends, not only a pop- 
ular artist whose work was fast bringing him to fame, but, 
as she always said, of such “yam^7y,” this being Mrs. Yan- 
deveer’s standard socially, perhaps even morally. “ Who ? ” 
said Donald, his head quickly turned and his glance 


250 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


brightening. “ Oh, my cousin Nona Marston ! excuse me, 
Mrs. Vandeveer,” and rather to that lady’s mortification 
the tall, picturesque looking young fellow strode away, and 
a moment later, with Honor, brought Nona back to be 
formally introduced. 

“ Marston^ did you say ? ” said the great lady of Dolly’s 
“ set,” as Alfred persisted in calling it. “ My dear, do you 
belong to the Portland Marstons ? ” 

Nona smiled quietly. 

“ Yes, I think so,” she answered simply ; “ my father 
came from Portland.” 

“ My dear,” Honor was saying a moment later, when they 
were out of Mrs. Vandeveer’s hearing, “I breathe freely. 
In a moment I trembled lest, by some unlucky chance, you 
might have come from Bangor ; not that I ever heard of 
Portland Marstons, but I suppose they’re something like 
extra double-dyed valuable.” 

Nona laughed. She was quite content to be here by 
Honor’s side, with her favorite cousin Donald coming up 
now and again, for a word and a pleasant reminder that she 
was not friendless, and the little air of elegance, the 
‘‘ society ” talk and manners did not in the least disconcert, 
only amused her. Nona was certainly one of those com- 
fortable beings who may have a special niche, a place in 
life just for them to fill, but meanwhile can be happy and 
useful anywhere, and count the gain of those they love as 
profit to themselves. Dolly was lovely, wonderful, charm- 
ing, all kindness and nobility, and Nona fairly reverenced 
her; but Honor, she simply, unquestioningly adored, and 
now, as she sat by her, the girl’s eyes were very watchful. 
She wondered why Honor’s glance so often, so anxiously 
sought the door. 

At last a possible reason was revealed. There was a 


A PliBLIMIJVAIiY BEIIBAJiSAZ. 


251 


slight stir in the company, and Dolly, with Alfred Thorn- 
dyke’s tall figure at her side, appeared. Nona felt the un- 
conscious movement of the girl at her side ; saw the rush 
of color which for an instant dyed her cheeks, the sudden 
brilliancy in the beautiful darkly fringed eyes, and a feeling, 
half-compassion, half-anxiety, smote her affectionate heart. 
The eyes of unselfish, absorbed friendship see much, and 
Nona’s in that instant read what Honor dared not, would 
not, dreaded to own even to her inner self. 

The next instant Dorothy was with them and Mrs. Yan- 
deveer was greeting Alfred impressively. Dolly’s manner 
was a trifle constrained, though she laughed lightly enough 
and chatted about the tableaux, glibly answering Fraser’s 
rapid questions as to her views on this and that in a half- 
teazing, half -joking manner, but in truth she was wonder- 
ing how to steal a moment’s private talk with Mrs. Hil- 
dreth, who seemed chained to Florence’s side. 

The opportunity came in an instant. 

“My dear Dorothy,” said Mrs. Yandeveer, “I am so 
glad you came. Mr. Fraser says the ‘ Sleeping Beauty ’ 
must be dark-haired.” 

“ Oh,” said Fraser carelessly, “ I merely thought of her 
as Tennyson depicts her — “ ‘ Love, if thy tresses be so dark, 
how dark those hidden eyes must be,’ ” he quoted. Mrs. 
Yandeveer looked vaguely troubled. She knew nothing 
about the quotation and had supposed the “Sleeping 
Beauty” a fairy tale. Even Tennyson seemed rather 
remote. 

“But there is Miss Hildreth,” said Dolly. “Whose 
tresses could be darker, or whose lovelier ? ” she added. 

“ But, my love,” whispered Mrs. Yandeveer, “ that girl is 
in /btcr scenes, 'prominently^ already.” 

“ I don’t really see as it makes any difference,” said 


252 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


Dolly good-liumoredly. “ For my j^art I should have sug- 
gested Miss Gildersleeve.” 

This beautiful but totally uninteresting young person 
was talking in her meaningless way to a grave, middle-aged 
Englishman, Mr. Le Mesurier, but caught her name as 
Florence evidently had hers, and presently both girls 
joined the group. It was Dorothy’s chance and she 
seized it. 

Mrs. Hildreth had been watching, waiting for Doro- 
thy’s approach it was evident, for as the young girl drew 
near her, the widow rose, a nervousness of manner, a pecu- 
liar eagerness showing itself even in the way she moved to 
meet her, and Dolly felt half afraid to look around lest she 
encounter Thorndyke’s eyes with that terribly searching 
look in them. But at the same moment his laugh was 
heard. Mrs. Vandeveer was pet “game” of his, with her 
absurd conventionalities, and Dolly knew from floating bits 
of talk he was urging that lady to something ridiculous. 
This augured that his gaze, the only one she dreaded, was 
not in her direction, and much relieved she met Mrs. Hil- 
dreth with a smile, said a few words, handed her a letter, 
and then stood still, wondering how she should frame a 
request that to-day’s errand be not repeated. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Hildreth’s eager eyes were scanning 
the letter Dolly had given her, and before the poor child 
had time to speak, she looked up, white to the lips. 

“Dolly,” she whispered, “as soon as you can I must see 
you alone ! This — this — oh — when can I talk to you ? ” 

Dolly involuntarily raised her hand to her head with a 
sigh of despair. 

“I will manage it,” she said quickly. “ But, oh, Mrs. 
Hildreth, we must not be seen here, talking together in 
whispers. I must go back, you know, to the others.” 


A PUBZIjWIJVAUF rehearsal. 


253 


“ But,” persisted the widow, ‘‘ I must see you. Do 
name a time.” 

“ Let me think,” said Dolly wearily. She sank into one 
of the chairs at hand, a huge arm-chair, one of the stage 
“properties,” leaned her head on her hand and tried to 
think of a time which she could and ought to give to such 
an interview. It was almost like conspiring against her 
better self, she fancied, to lend herself to Mrs. Hildreth’s 
needs, even at this moment ; yet in her interview yesterday 
at the cottage it had certainly seemed impossible to ascribe 
all the uneasiness it caused to the widow’s fondness for 
mystery or subterfuge. No, the counsel she had taken, 
the service she had asked of Dorothy, revealed a clear, tan- 
gible difficulty, an imperative need for action ; and while 
ready to do what she might to serve her, Dorothy had felt 
miserable from the first that the service, to be useful, must 
be rendered with absolute secrecy. No one must guess at 
or suspect it ; and Dorothy had pledged herself to its per- 
formance, chiefly because of that wretched feeling haunting 
her that where the Hildreths were concerned she must act 
in all things with absolute generosity and as a beneficent 
genius, at least until Floy’s marriage and Fred’s new work 
made their prosperity definitely assured. But the unex- 
pected meeting with Alfred that morning, his undisguised 
horror, contempt, doubt, had suddenly set her action in a 
new light — one Dolly too rarely let in upon her actions for 
others — that course another would counsel her to pursue ; 
and as she sat there, while Mrs. Hildreth’s trembling eager- 
ness seemed almost to convey itself to her own manner, the 
whole aspect of her position, her secret pledge, seemed 
changed. Yet now, could slie, ought she to draw back? 

“ Dorothy,” urged Mrs. Hildreth. “ There is always the 
excuse of Floy’s wedding to talk over. To-morrow after- 


254 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


noon she is going out with Fred, about four o’clock. Ho 
try to come down there.” 

Dolly rose with a start. 

“ Well, yes ; I will try,” she said desperately. “ But if 
not then — if I am not with you at four or half -past — can’t 
you come up to me ? ” 

“ Oh, but you will be,” said Mrs. Hildreth. “ If you knew 
all, you would not refuse.” 

“ I will try,” said poor Dolly, struggling to escape. 
“ Just now I can say no more. Remember I have so many 
others to consider.” 

“ But, Dorothy,” pursued Mrs. Hildreth, in a tone of anx- 
ious significance, “ you don’t — I don’t yet knowhow impor- 
tant — how serious a matter this may be even to youN 

“ To me / ” said Dorothy with a slight, incredulous 
smile. 

“ Miss Kent,” said the strong, clear voice of Miss Mars- 
ton, as that lady bore down upon them, “ will you tell me 
who that Mrs. Vandeveer is ! I iconder if she could have 
been Amelia Holcroft of Waltham ?” 

In spite of her misery Dolly had to laugh, and she was 
indeed thankful for any interruption to her distressing talk 
with Mrs. Hildreth. What fun it would be to Alfred to 
see and hear Miss Jane and the “ gory one ” as he called 
Mrs. Vandeveer, because of her perpetual talk about 
“ blood — good blood,” as an essential, fling family traditions 
at each other. 

“ Let us come and ask her,” she said ; and w ith an ex- 
pressive, reassuring glance at Mrs. Hildreth — it would not 
have been Dolly if she had not sought to soothe a troubled 
mind — she walked over to the group about Mrs. Vandeveer 
at Miss Jane’s side. 

Alfred, his foot on a chair, elbow on knee, and his chin 


A PRELIMINARY REHEARSAL. 


255 


in his hand, was gravely assuring Mrs. Vandeveer that 
Tennyson had it on the most direct authority that the “ Sleep- 
ing Beauty ” had hair black as night ; however, it might be 
she had bleached it. 

“ Alfred Thorndyke,” exclaimed Mrs. Vandeveer at 
length, “I nemr know whether you are in jest or earnest,” 
which was true enough, as she might have said of the 
wittiest speech said or written. A sense of humor could 
scarcely be laid at the ‘‘ gory one’s ” door. Alfred was 
vowing he never jested, when Miss Marston’s tall figure 
loomed up. Dolly performed the introduction with great 
gravity and precision, and Miss Jane in her clearest accents 
propounded the all-important question. 

Amelia Holcroft ! ” echoed Mrs. Vandeveer with a shake 
of her bonnet, as Alfred said later, such as a warrior might 
give his helmet at the scent of charge and victory, ‘‘ Amelia 
Holcroft was my only sister, and, like myself, married a 
Vandeveer.” 

This was enough. Down sat the two genealogists on the 
nearest bench, while the group about gladly dispersed, and 
on the stage Fraser began “ placing ” this one and that. 
Even in the half-lights it could be seen that the wonderful 
if immovable loveliness of Baby Gildersleeve could not 
but charm as the “ Sleeping Beauty,” and a happy thought of 
Dorothy’s was to introduce Floy into the scene as an attend- 
ent. Surely two lovelier contrasts could not have been 
made ; while, determined that her especial pet in their New 
York circle, Alice Throgmorton, should not be forgotten, 
Dolly made a chance to suggest that in the favorite scene 
from Dickens’s ‘‘ Dolly Varden ” she be the representative of 
“ Emma Haredale.” A slight and disturbing consciousness 
that scenes in which she, General Bering’s adopted daughter, 
figured would be most prominent, made her aware that to 


256 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


associate Alice, the much abused “ slave ” Sybil had de- 
scribed, with herself as “ Dolly Yarden ” would be an 
especial compliment was the nearest approach to acknowl- 
edging her position and realizing her personal importance 
Dorothy had ever allowed herself. Not that she under- 
rated in the least her value as the General’s ward, but — 
what was it ? There was a curious shrinking from receiv- 
ing the homage it entailed on all sides which was not 
wholly the result of her natural humility. Something else 
tinged, colored, darkened the feeling. Dolly felt as though 
her horizon was b}^ no means clear as others painted it, and 
to-day’s events had urged that undefined feeling on. How- 
ever, as she stood there near the delighted Alice, a sweet, 
refined girl of no particular type, yet thoroughly “ pleas- 
ing,” as Mrs. Anderson said — as one and all seemed to 
regard her as the centre of their little world, to look to 
and talk with and of her, as a person quite to be regarded as 
one of the society “ leaders” most to be sought and admired, 
it was not possible for Dorothy to resist a slight sense of satis- 
faction in it all. The wave on which she was riding was 
certainly crested with silver and under radiant skies ; why 
not accept it all — enjoy — make it of use ; whj'^be tormented 
with such doubts and misgivings ; wliy even let Mrs. Hil- 
dreth’s mysteries weigh on her mind ? Dolly, even in the 
talking and laughing she shared, was revolving these 
thoughts, when suddenly a curious and most unexpected 
diversion occurred. The proprietor of the hotel with an 
air of the utmost deference was approaching her, holding a 
card, which he handed her, remarking “ the lady had asked 
for him — then desired him to give Miss Kent the card him- 
self,” “ and,” Mr. Jones added, “I asked her into the little 
parlor. Miss Kent, as she said it was personal business and 
veri/ important.” 


A PRELIMINART REHEARSAL. ' 


257 


Dolly held the card for an instant in her hand, not at all 
recognizing the name, ‘‘ Mrs. George Trueman,” engraved 
on it. Then, like a flash, it came back to her mind who tlie 
owner was. The married sister of her former school friend, 
the Pauline Molesworth whom she had visited in tlie days 
when — before, as Alfred seemed to suggest, she had 
changed. Dolly rose to her feet at once, hut feeling very 
queerly, not a little mystified by this visit. How should 
she receive her unbidden guest, the woman whose selfish 
worldliness had so cruelly cast off Miss Dearborn, whose 
vulgarity had been so jarring and even annoying to the 
‘‘child” Dolly of long ago? Yet, as she followed Mr. 
Jones to the parlor adjoining the hall, she could not help 
smiling at the ludicrous side of it. What a queer break it 
made in her reflections, sure enough. Under what changed 
circumstances was she receiving, where once she had been 
received with such vulgar condescension, such insufferable 
patronage ? And what could Mrs. Trueman’s personal busi- 
ness be ? 


17 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


FOR THE SAKE OF “ LANG SYNE.” 

Dorothy’s visitor was standing with an air of inde- 
cision, yet what she herself later declared as “ pluck,” in a 
window of the parlor, and as Dolly entered, with a manner 
meant to be very reserved yet sufficiently polite, the lady 
turned suddenly a face faded, or bleached by constant 
cosmetics, yet which once had been girlishly lovely, and 
advanced smiling and offering her hand with effusive cor- 
diality. 

Surprised, ain’t you. Miss Kent ?” she exclaimed, taking 
the chair politely indicated, and sweeping Dorothy’s per- 
fectly well chosen and becoming costume with a critical 
glance ; nothing escaped her, and she rapidly “appraised” 
everything, the hat with its mass of black plumes, the rich 
furs, the gleaming “ bangles,” and few but costly rings on 
Dorothy’s white lingers. “ But we were in the neighbor- 
hood, and I heard from Mrs. Neil of your entertainment, * 
and of course we want tickets. I told her, as you were an 
old family friend we’d lost sight of for years, I’d just come 
around myself.” 

“ You are very kind,” murmured Dorothy, not knowing 
what to say, and divided between a strong inclination to 
snub Mrs. Trueman in a marked manner, and to laugh over 
much that the mere sight of her blonde hair, pretty faded 
face, and showy but certainly expensive dress recalled. 

“ I believe,” she added, as a happy thought, “ I did call 

2C8 


FOR THE SAKE OF ^‘LANO SYNE. 


259 


while walking out once at your apartment with Mrs. Moles- 
worth.” 

It was certainly pointed ; even Mrs. Trueman’s not over- 
delicate senses could not but perceive it, but she had too 
much in view to resent or even notice a slight from such a 
“swell ” as she considered the General’s heiress. 

“ Oh, yes,” she said, with a sort of giggle. “We were 
sorry not to show you more attention ; but I wasn’t well 
that winter, and I knew ma made up for it.” 

“How is your mother?” asked Dolly suddenly, and 
with real interest, moved to it by a really kindly recollec- 
tion of the woman placed in. so trying a position, so sorely 
against her will, and whom Dolly associated with some of 
the only pleasant hours during that awful visit. 

“Oh, ma ! Well ’bout as usual — not very well, I be- 
lieve. Pa’s dead, you know, and she’s dreadfully taken up 
with church matters since she’s so much time on her hands. 
Paulie’s with me at my cousin’s,” she added. 

“Indeed,” said Dolly seriously. “I hope she is very 
well.” 

“ Oh yes. She’s engaged, you know, and — well, perhaps 
she’ll tell you all about it herself.” 

Dorothy smiled, with a slight inclination of her head, 
which Mrs. Trueman could interpret as she liked. 

“She’d have come with me herself to-day,” continued 
Mrs. Trueman dauntlessly, “onl}^ she was expecting Mr. 
Brooks — that’s his name. However, she’s sure to be at the 
entertainment, and will see you then, if not before. Dear 
me, how times are changed ! Who’d have thought that 
our inviting you, a perfect stranger, you may say, that 
winter, would have led to this!^^ 

An expressive glance, which seemed to include all the 
luxurious details of Dolly’s costume, accompanied the woi'dsj 


260 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


and Dolly would have laughed outright, it was so charac- 
teristic of the Molesworths, but that the gleam of ti uth in 
Mrs. Trueman’s words made her suddenly serious. Miser- 
able as that visit was, vulgar and even heartless as some of 
its results, Dorothy could not deny that Mrs. Trueman had 
some foundation for what she said. Certainly but for that 
visit she would not have found General Bering — have ob- 
tained her father’s relief in his business anxiety — have 
known her darling Emily — known even Thorndyke him- 
self ! But was she never to escape the bondage her heart 
seemed to put upon her where others were concerned? 

“Yes, you are partly right,” she said slowly, conscious 
that her visitor was watching eagerly for the effect of her 
own words, and ready to make the very most of her 
answer and any advance it suggested. “ I met my cousin 
through coming to New York, but” — she smiled, and a 
most unusual sense of justice to herself made her add — “ I 
cannot help remembering, Mrs. Trueman, that I outstayed 
my welcome, and gave poor Pauline great anxiety lest, 
perhaps, I never intended going home.” 

“Nonsense,” exclaimed Mrs. Trueman. “That was just 
Pauline’s way. Why, you ought to hear her talk now. 
She’d just jump out of her skin for joy to see you. And 
let me tell you, honestly, I doiiH believe it’s a bit because 
you’re rich. There — I may as well own up. She would 
have come to-day and let Mr. Brooks wait, only she was 
afraid you’d be snippy and think she was just running 
after you, and she vowed she’d give worlds to see you if 
you hadn’t a cent.” 

“ It is kind, certainlj^,” said Dorothy, incredulous, yet de- 
termined to do justice all around. “ Pray tell Pauline I am 
very glad to hear she is happy — for I suppose she is.” 

“ Oh, she’ll tell you fast enough,” said Mrs. Trueman, a 


FOR THE SAKE OF ‘‘LANG SYNET 261 

little shortly. It really was beginning to be discouraging, 
but before Dorothy could answer she valiantly renewed the 
attack. 

“ she said significantly, rising and drawing up her 

sealskin collar, “ what shall I say to Pauline ? shall she run 
over to see you before we go back, or will you call on her ? 
I’m sure, you needn’t either of you stand on ceremony at 
this late date.” 

Dorothy rose with almost too much alacrity, but she felt 
desperate. However, a call from Pauline would entail less 
than a visit paid her, and, after all, what mattered a little 
kindness out of her abundant store ? 

‘‘ Tell Pauline to come over any afternoon late or morn- 
ing early she likes, except to-morrow,” Dorothy said, with 
frank avoidance of a more inclusive invitation. “And I 
will be happy to send ^ you and your friends a few tickets. 
As it is for charity, I bought several to give away.” 

“ Bought them, when yowget it all up and pay for every- 
thing,” almost shrieked Mrs. Trueman. “ Well, I never ! ” 

“ Well, you see,” laughed Dolly, too thoroughly amused 
to have room for any feeling, “ the object of our giving 
it in the hall was, that the sale of tickets should increase 
Mr. Rainey’s fund — and it would hardly be just if we could 
appropriate the tickets without paying for them.” 

“ Well, much obliged, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Trueman, “ but 
I can’t see it in that way.” 

She was moving toward the door, and Dorothy said 
politely : 

“ I’m Sony I can’t go further with you, but my friends 
are waiting for me.” 

“ Oh, that’s all right,” was the rather short answer. 
“ Guess I can find my own way. Good-by, Miss Kent.” 

“ Good-by,” said Dolly, so relieved that the interview 


202 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


was ended, that she infused some cordiality into her tone 
and the grasp of her hand. “Remember me kindly to 
your mother,” she added, and a moment later, with consid- 
erable rustling of her draperies, Mrs. Trueman had disap- 
peared down the hall, and she was free to return, intensely 
amused by what had passed, to the company in the hall, 
who were quite ready to disperse, as the short winter’s day 
had nearly closed in. 

Mrs. Van de veer and Miss Marston were parting like old 
friends. Anna Maria had been “ shown off,” her pedigree 
given and found satisfactory. Honor was looking a trifle 
over-tired, and everyone else seemed animated by a spirit 
of great enthusiasm. As in all such affairs, they had 
touched the point of complete self-satisfaction and gener- 
ous admiration of each other, but Fraser Avas perhaps right, 
when he shrevvedly observed to Honor that it was no doubt 
just as well they had to rush things, else delay would surely 
involve heart-burnings and dissension. 

“ What !” exclaimed Honor merrily, “are you turning 
cynic ? ” 

“Kot more than usual,” he declared ; “only you see I’m 
no novice at this sort of thing, and I never saw an}^ private 
theatricals pass off without tearing of hair and gnashing of 
teeth. I don’t know why; it’s like the proverbial jealousy 
of musicians. Hard to explain — but awfully human. See 
here,” he added suddenly, and in quite a different tone, his 
brown eyes searching her face like a doctor’s. “ What do 
you mean, little Avoman, by those pale cheeks and tired 
eyes? I believe I’m a brute ! I ought to have noticed it 
long ago and not kept you over that ‘ Elaine ’ pose ! ” He 
glanced about half-savagely as though in search of some 
authority, and Honor said quickly and with insistence, 
“ No, no ; don’t, Mr. Fraser ; I really only am a little tired. 
I’ve time to rest an hour before dinner.” 


FOR THE SAKE OF ^^LANG SYNE, 


203 


He gazed at her a moment in expressive silence. 

“ Promise me one thing,” he said sternly, the e3^es hack 
of his glasses showing an anxiety which touched Honor, in 
spite of her desire to make light of any such demonstration 
on his part. 

“ If you don’t feel quite well ; understand, really like 
yourself, you won’t come down again to-night ; and an- 
other thing,” he touched the collar of her dress briefly. 
“ Couldn’t you possibly wear a high gown like this ? I was 
half -wild last night for fear you’d take cold in that little 
flimsy affair you had on.” 

Honor laughed in delight. 

“ Upon my word ! ” she exclaimed, “ Dorothy ought to 
hear you. That flimsy affair as you dare to call it 
was her chef-d’oeuvre in design ; and pronounced most 
becoming.” 

“ Oh, as for that,” said Fraser, with a careless manner, 
“ I don’t say a word to deny that you looked well enough, 
only with your throat-trouble you ought to keep well 
wrapped up.” 

“ Suppose,” inquired Honor, “ I come down with a 
flannel around my neck.” 

“ Well, upon my word I’d rather see it forty times than 
the other thing.” 

Honor laughed but sighed ; when the pretty dainty gauze 
and silk dinner dress had been made, there was a discussion 
as to whether the neck might not be very slightly rounded 
out, just to look a little more “ dressy,” and it had annoyed 
her to find her delicacy still subject for deliberation over 
such a trifle, which ended in her declaring it should be done 
as she wished ; and here now was this great brusque Donald 
Fraser vowing he had gone “nearly wild” over her run- 
ning the risk wearing such a dress involved. 

“ I shall do as I like ! ” Honor declared petulantly. But 


264 


FOB HONOR'S SAKE. 


her lips quivered, and she turned her face away with a 
quick-drawn sigh. 

‘‘ Oh, Miss Honor ! ” Fraser said anxiously. “ Don’t you 
know — can’t you understand, it is only because I long to 
keep you welV'^ 

Honor brought her eyes back to his eager watchful face 
with a look of marked tears in them. She laid a rather 
tremulous little hand on his arm. 

<< Forgive me,” she said, with that wonderful new gentle- 
ness the girl only used to Fraser and his Cousin Nona, ‘‘ I 
spoke very hastily, and you are more than kind. There ! ” 
She smiled wistfully. “ Thank you, I will do just as you 
ask.” 

“You are a — jewel,” the young man exclaimed, unable 
to resist a slight pressure with his great hand of the tired 
little fingers before they were withdrawn from his arm. 
“A darling,” was the word nearly on his lips, but Honor 
moved away to draw nearer the home party, conscious only 
of a generous and pervading sense of protection in Fra- 
ser’s feeling for her which was not without its charm ; all 
the more, as she often told herself, because it was so entirely 
free from sentiment or, to use her favorite term for such 
things, “silliness.” And Fraser’s dark eyes followed her 
slender, graceful figure with a look in them which sur- 
prised Alfred’s glance as he caught it. 

“ Upon my word,” was the young lawyer’s shrewd re- 
flection. “ So that’s how the land lies is it ? and yet I am 
to be ‘Lancelot’ to Honor’s most lovable and beautiful 
‘Elaine ! ’ Poor old chap ! Well, I wish him luck ! It’s 
a pity if so7ne of us can’t be happy our own way in this 
up-side-down world, and he certainly, if any one on earth, 
deserves it.” 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


GENERAL BERING IS CONTENT. 

General Bering, at the head of his dinner-table that 
evening, surveyed the scene around him with unwonted 
satisfaction. It was years since domestic affairs had gone 
really to his liking ; years since it had occurred to the old 
soldier to look for personal enjoyment of a social nature, 
save that which he found in a desultory way at his club ; 
and now, when to the amiable sense of festivity in his own 
home was added the supreme touch of seeing his “ little 
Dorothy,” as he called the tall blooming girl at the other 
end of the table, take her place so well, with such un- 
affected charm, yet something spirited, keen, and decidadly 
distinguished, the General declared to himself that the law 
of compensation was certainly being fulfilled in his case. 
He had suffered years of loneliness, doubts of his fellow 
beings, hard accumulating of a wealth he had taken a 
savage pleasure in deciding should go to no kin of his, 
and now, behold, in his old age a good angel’s wings had 
rustled into his dwelling-place, and, as if by magic, the 
whole scene had changed. Life, youth, happy voices, 
laughter of the heart, social pleasures, all had come in to 
sweep out the phantoms of grim meaning which had peo- 
pled his lonely hearth-stone ; and again, as he looked at the 
fair girl whose name and nature had wrought the change, 
the General reflected that even with her there was curious 
compensation for what he had lost. Did she not fulfill all 
that his lost Dorothy might have been, and add the needed 

265 


266 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE, 


touch of thought and spirit which he had always known, 
dearly as he loved her, the other darling of his heart and 
life had lacked ? It seemed almost as if the first sweet 
Dolly of long ago had been taken from him, to come back 
after all these years finer, stronger, more of a fair sweet 
woman. 

On either side of the long, beautifully appointed dinner- 
table, whose centre was strewn with rare hot-house flowers on 
priceless lace and damask, the faces of his guests were beam- 
ing, their voices gay and bright, topics discussed in tete-a- 
tete or general conversation, displaying just the element the 
old soldier enjoyed. Mr. Le Mesurier, at Dorothy’s right 
hand, was giving her a picturesque account of a fox hunt, 
to which the beautiful Miss Gildersleeve, radiant in pale 
green silk and pearls, listened with a greater show of interest 
than she had seemed capable of expressing ; and opposite 
them Noel Bryan, the “universal genius,” and Ada Van- 
deveer, a girl designated by some people as a “ perfect 
thorough-bred,” certainly incapable of anything outre, but 
very apt to be disdainful of things and people outside of 
her own world, were going over their particular poses in 
the first “ Sleeping Beauty ” tableaux, where the guests were 
assembled just before the fatal touch which caused the 
hundred years’ sleep ; Mrs. Kent, suificiently dignified to 
suit the most exacting, yet too much herself not to be 
keen and shrewd and sometimes sharp, was talking to 
Herman Lee, who was describing to her the absolute neces- 
sity of strict caste feeling in New York society. Aunt Jule 
admitting genially to a strong prejudice in favor of family 
tradition, because it argued refinement of bringing up, but 
failing to see why one or two generations of wealth should 
entitle the owner to what would be refused him or lier 
were they doweiiess in this world’s goods. A nice, delicate 


GENERAL BERING IS CONTENT. 


267 


point of argument Mr. Lee admitted, but lie manipulated it 
so skilfully that Aunt Jule, if puzzled and a bit contemptu- 
ous, had to fall back on her favorite maxim, that only good 
heart and good breeding can make a gentleman, “ and to 
tell the truth, Mr. Lee,” she observed dryly, “ I’ve seen 
some of your ‘high-caste,’ people whose manners I’d be 
sorry to see 7ny girls employ. Mind you, this overpowering 
affability doesn’t mean gentle manners, defend me from 
the merely affable person ; but there is a sweet, gracious 
courtesy, which need never be undignified, yet never gives 
a heart-ache, which to my mind marks the lady — gentle- 
woman has a meaning then.” Aunt Jule’s bright eye 
sparkled, and her fine plain face looked a fitting accompani- 
ment to her words. “ The people,” she continued, “ who are 
always saying they must draw the line — never, I think, had 
any to draw ! ” Alice Throgmorton was well pleased to be 
talking to Fred Marston, who was looking remarkably well 
and in his finest “society” humor in spite of Floy’s 
absence — the Hildreths were not present — and Emil}^ Ander- 
son and Donald Fi*aser seemed to be mixing up talk of the 
tableaux with the object of the charity ; while opposite, 
Sybil and Mr. Rainey seemed to be getting on famously, 
the young clergyman all attention while she related some 
of her experiences in trying to become a great artist. 
Honor in a high-neck gown, be it known, a pretty rose-pink 
cashmere, was looking a trifle pale but evidently con- 
tented, talking and listening to Thorndyke, who always 
looked in evening dress as though he were born to a life of 
cultivated quiet leisure. On either side of the General him- 
self were Mrs. Vandeveer and Mrs. Rainey, the one ardently 
“reminiscing,” as Sybil called it, about “old times,” the 
other listening, vaguely disquieted over the very mundane 
style of conversation on, all sides, yet sensibly enjoying the 


268 


FOR HONOR ’S SAKE. 


luxurious setting in which she found herself, now and again 
claiming her host’s attention for a word or two of parish 
matters, which her son had particularly implored her not to 
introduce so urgently on social occasions of the kind. 

As for Dorothy, pleased as she was by all about her, 
happy in her own happiness and that of others, there could 
not but be an undercurrent of something like uneasiness, as 
she thought of to-morrow’s interview with Mrs. Hildreth, 
and remembered the painful episode of the morning. Since 
then, Alfred’s very eagerness to show her consideration 
had pointed the fact that he felt an effort must be made 
lest their relations become too strained, and it had resulted 
in as decided a chill in her own manner as was consistent 
with her character of hostess. Alfred had not been slow 
to see it, to misinterpret the cause. “ She means to put 
me in my place, eh?” was his reflection as he dressed for 
dinner. “ Well, my sweet Dorothy, you need not fear the 
lesson has not been learned.” And he turned his mind 
resolutely to the newest revolution in his wheel of fortune, 
giving just one sigh of regret to the thought of how he 

would liked to have discussed it all with Dorothy — if ! 

His unquestionable talent in oratory had already made him 
felt as a power in certain circles and, to the infinite satis- 
faction of his firm and friends, he had been elected as 
member of an important delegation to Washington, the 
matter being one of distinction and real political signifi- 
cance. In spite of his imperturbable manner, it had 
thrilled him in every nerve and fibre. It was precisely 
what he would have chosen, and seemed a veritable gift of 
the gods. So far he had only alluded to it casually, but 
the General had seen some items in his morning’s paper 
which made him anxious for a talk with Alfred on that 
and certain other matters. The old man, in pauses of 


GENERAL BERING IS CONTENT. 


269 


Mrs.Vandeveer’s monotonous talk, glanced at the fine high- 
bred face of his young ‘‘ legal adviser ” with inward satis- 
faction. He was wondering how, exactly, he could bring 
about some special points he wished to make in his dis- 
course. 

Dorothy was rather relieved when the dinner was con- 
cluded and the company dispersed about the various rooms, 
the great hall, with its leaping, blazing fire and soft candle- 
light, finding especial favor. She found herself for a few 
moments somewhat apart from the others in the pretty blue 
and white parlor, and was not aware until he addressed her 
by name that Alfred had followed her and was standing, 
coffee-cup in hand, by the fire. Dolly had been looking 
out at the frosty moonlit lawn, with its cedar trees glisten- 
ing, jewel-hung, under a gleaming sky. She turned quickly 
and came toward him. 

believe,” Alfred said, with deliberation, ‘*I have not 
told you yet of what I am about to do for my country ! ” 

She smiled. There was just a touch of effort in his 
manner, yet his old bantering way half hid it. 

“ No ; I didn’t know the Presidential term had expired 
yet.” 

‘‘It hasn’t quite,” he answered; “but meanwhile they 
intend me to get my hand in, so to speak. To be serious, 
I’m appointed on the Morris Committee to Washington. 
My chief says I ought to be ashamed of myself.” 

Dorothy’s whole speaking face kindled. She could not 
forget Alfred had been her hero. 

“ Alfred ! ” she exclaimed, and drawing nearer, she looked 
at him in a way which dashed some of his philosophy — 
that sweet, clear, happy glance which, when it meant sym- 
pathy with and for him, was dangerously potent. “ I am 
enchanted ! How delightful ! ” She gazed a moment 


270 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


thoughtfully down into the fire, whose beams played rud- 
dily on her gown of thick white surah, touched the string 
of gold beads on her throat, her cool soft cheek, the 
resolute if dimpled chin, the bronze hair which, arching 
from her brow, was compactly, richly coiled on her neck. 
Alfred had seen, that very night, women far more regu- 
larly beautiful than Dorothy could ever be ; yet, as he 
allowed his eyes to stray from one point in the picture she 
made to another before her head was lifted, he felt as if 
he could own no charm in any girl which this one who had 
“ put him in his place,” set him so far from her, did not 
comprise ; and it was not strange that, as Dorothy lifted her 
eyes suddenly, she met the young man’s gravest, saddest 
expression. 

“ Why, you actually look dismal over it,” declared 
Dorothy ; “and, do you know, I was just thinking how 
'proud and glad I felt ! ” Her eyes were shining. “ Yes, 
indeed ; I can’t express it. I suppose it is as girls felt in 
the war times before our day, when those — those belonging 
to them — went off to victory or defeat, any way to heroism.” 

She stopped suddenly, and Alfred exclaimed with a 
queer, sad, laugh : 

“ Ah, Dolly, Dolly ! It is very sweet to have you say 
it ; but, well, I suppose you always 'iioill be true to your 
ideals, but if only you can infuse a little of your glow, your 
faith into any political enterprise, it will help me. What 
would you think if I were to admit” — he looked at her 
with challenging keenness — “ that my first feeling on 
accepting the nomination was of what it would lead to in 
a worldly or ambitious sense in my professional life. 
Understand me,” as he read a look of distress in her eyes, 
“I don’t mean for an instant that I would sell my opinions, 
my influence, would go on this mission, were not my hearty 


GENERAL BERING IS CONTENT. 


211 


faith in it to endorse every word I uttered ; but the other 
sentiment unquestionably comes first. These are not war 
days, little Dolly.” 

“They are,” said the girl, with the upward tilt of her 
chin the Dolly of long ago had so often amused him bA^ 
“ There must always be a right and wrong to fight in poli- 
tics, if men would only care for it ! And yoUy Alfred ! 
I so long to see you show that you can stand out for trying 
to make the best where other men, it seems to me, try only 
to encourage the worst. Of course I don’t pretend to under- 
stand what you men jumble together as politics — but, I 
love my country.” 

“ Dolly, I think you might inspire me,” he exclaimed. 

“ Could I ? Oh, Alfred ! Why do we say there are no 
battle-fields now ? When I read of things in the papers I 
turn sick sometimes. It is the only time I feel I’d like to 
be a man ! I’d try, at least ! No one should tell me a 
public office could not be held to the credit and honor of 
the country.” 

“ Women like you, Dorothy,” said the young man sadly, 
“ should be the wives pi our statesmen.” 

“I am not wise enough for that,” the girl answered. 
“Yet, do you know,” she turned her face again to him 
suddenly, with a sweet radiant look which had a touch of 
something happily confidential in it, “do you know it is 
the one thing I would like — if I ever married — to see my 
husband doing work well for his country’s good — for the 
oppressed, for reform — yes, I believe there is something in 
me, Alfred, that suggestion kindles. I will own I’ve often 
wished for it. It’s not ambition — except for example, I’ve 
almost thought I’d like it to be done obscurely.” 

“Dolly,” Alfred exclaimed, with sudden vehemence, 
“ you tempt me sorely ! ” 


272 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


She drew hack swiftly — feeling in a flash as though she 
had been guilty of forcing the conversation into too per- 
sonal a ‘channel. And there was time for explanation on 
neither side. Sybil was heard coming in with Mr. Rainey 
to plead for some music, and the General sent to ask Alfred 
to join him in his study for an hour’s quiet talk. 

Thorndyke went abruptly away, his pulses tingling, his 
brain half on fire. Fool that he had been, to startle her 
out of the sympathetic mood which he declared to himself 
he was craving for the good, the impetus, the help in a 
high direction it would offer him. Impossible, he reflected, 
to mistake the meaning of that sudden shrinking back, that 
swift change on her speaking face, as he had let his words 
be spoken all unawares. If he were about to so com- 
pletely lose his head better to go away at once, anywhere, 
the young fellow reflected ; and it was with rather a rueful 
countenance he entered the General’s lamp-lit comfortable 
study, where his “ client” was seated before the large table 
on which a mass of papers and documents were strewn. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


A SHOCK. 

It would have been difficult, I imagine, for any of the 
party assembled at The Glen to have given^a detailed ac- 
count of how the next day passed, since so much had to be 
crowded into it, owing to the tableaux, that a general air of 
excitement prevailed, in which everybody seemed to be 
active ; talking, laughing, going up stairs and down, in the 
blue and white parlor given up for the purpose, inspecting 
costumes, again in the adjoining room trying special 
poses, flying to bookshelves to consult this authority and 
that, to find, compare, or authorize quotations, or make 
some new selection for the highly embellished and literary 
programme which Fraser and Alfred between them had de- 
vised. If Fraser’s manners were less conventional than ever, 
his methods more peremptory, and his tones more brusque, 
who could blame him, since on all sides the performers 
were tormenting him, to do this and that, change some- 
thing to suit their special fancy or caprice, and in a rare 
moment of tcte-a-tcte with Dolly he declared he thoroughly 
understood why “managers” adopted a certain manner 
and adhered to it, ignoring individual claims. 

“ However,” said Dolly cheeringly, “ it all promises 
beautifully, Mr. Fraser, and I’m sure the people ought to 
like it, and will.” 

“ Yes,” Fraser looked a bit dubious, then went on. “ By 
the way do you think the ‘Elaine ’ poses too tiresome for Miss 
Honor ? She is looking rather done up, I fancied.” 

18 273 


274 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


“ Honor ! ” said Holly; quickly, “ I had not observed it.” 
Her conscience smote her. Absorbed in arranging for the 
promised interview with Mrs. Hildreth, she bad unques- 
tionably overlooked a duty nearer home, and she w^ent now 
in search of her cousin, promising Donald that she would 
certainly see to her having a needed rest. 

Going into her own room the sound of voices in Honor’s 
arrested her steps suddenly, because she heard her own 
name in a sentience which made her very heart stand still. 
Honor was speaking in low, weary accents to her mother. 

“ Dorothy does not care for Alfred that wajq I am sure. 
But, mother,” the girl’s voice deepened sadly, “ neither does 
he care for me — so don’t let it worry you, dearest.” 

Dorothy turned, and with a feeling almost of suffocation 
went out of her room softly and down the hall to the little 
windowed place, half-room half-alcove, just in the bend of the 
stairs. It was the only place in which she could be alone, 
and drawing the portiere which hid it from the view of 
passers by, she sat down on the deep window-bench, leaning 
her head wearily against the cool pane, trying to think. 
This, then, was what Nona Marston had meant when she 
had said to her wistfully that morning, she “ hoped nobody 
would ever break Miss Honor’s heart.” Dolly remembered 
now, that she had laughingly answered Honor was far more 
likely to break somebody else’s. Did — could Nona love 
Honor better than she had done all the years of her life, that 
she discovered what had passed Dorothy’s vision unheeded ? 
No ; Dolly knew that love of Honor — nay, care and thought 
of her — had all their lives long since she had known any- 
thing been as a first thought, and nothing touched her con- 
science on such a point. That Honor’s feeling, if indeed it 
did exist, as she now believed to be the case, had escaped her 
notice was because, when with her, she had so successfully 


A SHOCK. 


275 


concealed it, yet, as is always the case in such matters, a 
dozen trifles rose to mind now which confirmed the idea 
Honor’s words had suggested. Well, Dorothy smiled and 
pressed her hands tightly together. For Honor’s sake what 
looiild slie not strive to do ; strive to bring about ? And as 
this came to her, poor Dolly thought wistfully, how much 
she was doing even now for ‘‘honor’s sake ” — concealing this 
affair of Mrs. Hildreth’s, perhaps, to her own future disad- 
vantage if not misery ? But it was not in the nature of 
the girl to place herself in a self-pitying oi' martyrlike 
light — and had she not put away her little “ charm,” the 
heartsease “ for remembrance,” and only yesterday told her- 
self that the changes time had wrought should and must 
exist on both sides ? And Honor ! beautiful, fragile — to 
be cared for by her so that, if possible, the very winds of 
heaven should but caress her ! How would it fare with one 
whose life was, as they all feared, frail as that of a winter 
blossom, if indeed her heart were to be sorely wounded ? 

A clock chiming softly somewhere from below startled 
Dorothy, and she rose, remembering that now was her time, 
if at all, to go to Mrs. Hildreth’s. She returned to her room, 
stopping at the door of the one shared by the Andersons, to 
find Sybil dancing a sort of fandango in a Japanese wrap- 
per, her hair done up like the ladies’ on a fan, while Emily 
and Alice Throgmorton were in fits of laughter over the 
performance. 

Sybil pirouetted up to Dolly, chattering something like 
Japanese. 

“My name is Young Hyson,” she observed, “ and I am 
practising for an entertainment Mr. Rainey promises to 
get up.” 

She sank in what children call a cheese on the ground, 
and fanned herself gayly. 


276 


FOB HONOR’S SAKE. 


Dolly leaned against the framework of the door, laugh- 
ing with the others ; yet a note in the sweet tone must have 
jarred upon Emily, for she looked up quickly, critically. 
Dolly’s cheeks were rather pale. 

“ You are tired, Dolly,” Emmie exclaimed, hurrying 
toward her. 

“ No, no, dear,” declared Dolly, dreading lest sympathy 
so dear as Emily’s should unnerve her, ‘‘ Indeed I am not. 
I stopped here to explain I had to go down and see Mrs. 
Hildreth about something ; it will not be long. If I am 
not back early, you know, I will be for the six o’clock tea 
we are all supposed to scramble over in order to get to our 
full-dress rehearsal.” 

She moved away, wishing that, for an hour or two, she 
could exchange places with Sybil, whose sunny nature 
seemed incapable of catching any shadow, or ever feeling 
gloom ; and returning to her own room called out at once, 
“ Honor,” then hearing no answer, concluded the danger of 
eavesdropping was over. She was quickly dressed for her 
short walk and, going through the house, was relieved to 
find her guests all apparently well interested or amused, 
some in one way, some in another. Honor’s figure in the 
firelight of the drawing-room listening to what seemed 
some fun or banter from Mr. Bryan, giving her an odd, 
queer sense of constraint as well as self-reproach. Oh, 
how blind she had been, reflected Dorothy, but now, was 
not her duty made clear to her ? 


CHAPTER XXXYI. 


THE BONDAGE OF DECEIT. 

I HAVE barely any time, Mrs. Hildreth,” were Dorothy’s 
first words to the widow after the greetings were ex- 
changed. “ Indeed I ought not to have come away at all, 

I am very sure, but you seemed so anxious ” 

Mrs. Hildreth passed her hand wearily 
across her eyes. “ Dolly, I have not slept all night ! Tell 
me, dear, once again all that that wretched old man said.” 

They were in a little sitting-room upstairs, where the 
mother and daughter passed much of their time when 
alone, and where Mrs. Hildreth’s heavy brass-bound secre- 
tary and a few other special belongings had a place. Dolly 
had laid aside her gloves and jacket, but declared at once 
she must not linger. Mrs. Hildreth, in a deep easy-chair 
before her young visitor, leaned forward, eager to hear over 
again details of her talk with Baker. 

“ He was very curt, almost rude,” said Dolly. ‘‘ He 
asked me what I knew of the business ? I told him only 
what you had told me. That he had written insisting on 
an interview yesterday with you in regard to the relatives 
you were hunting up ; that was right, wasn’t it ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, dear ; go on.” 

That you could not possibly come, but had asked me to 
do so in your place. That you most earnestly desired him 
to give you the papers you had loaned him. He laughed 
at this and said you had sold them. I said you expressly 
called it a loan^ but if money would buy them you would 

277 


278 


FOR HONOR'S SAKEN 


pay for them. He said he knew nothing about the people * 
you were hunting up — if he did he would not tell you — 
you had not dealt fairly with him he was sure, and now he 
had a way to make much better use of his information.” 

Dolly paused in her hurried narrative, almost frightened 
by the blanched look of terror on Mrs. Hildreth’s face. 
Only terror, indeed, could have wrought the change, and it 
flashed across the young girl with mingled contempt and 
pity that it sprang from the fear of being /ownc? out about 
something; what Dolly did not venture ^to ask, nor, in- 
deed, could she have guessed. 

Better use,” echoed Mrs. Hildreth. “There is only one 
other way I can guess at, and oh, Dorothy, it would be our 
ruin!^^ 

She rose and walked over to the window, where she 
stood an instant, leaning wearily, heavily against its frame- 
work. 

“ Our rwfw,” she repeated at last, turning again and be- 
ginning to pace the floor slowly, deliberately, like a person 
thinking out some terrible problem rather than in the 
physical pain she was really suffering at that very moment 
from incurable disease. “Yes, there is one way, and it has 
often made me tremble, when I have thought of a possible 
day when he might use his power. Doll}^ — ” she paused, 
and faced her alarmed but compassionate young visitor 
with dry, burning eyes. “ Be warned by me, my child. 
Never lend yourself to anything which, told against you, 
could not bear investigation. For years I have gone about 
with a miserable secret, a haunting remembrance. I have 
had to hide it even from my own child. I have had to 
dread her finding it out, and there has seemed no escape, 
no hope, until just of late a belief came to me like an in- 
spiration — yes, I think it loas one — that you could help me 


THE BONDAGE OF DECEIT. 


279 


to break loose from this wretched bondage my own deceit 
placed me in.” 

Mrs. Hildreth paused, breathing heavily and sinking into 
a chair near the table opposite. She leaned her head 
on her hand, and continued speaking like a person forced to 
go on, but as if in a dream. 

“ When I saw how you took everything, when Frederick 
told me of your goodness in placing him well with the Gen- 
eral ” ( ‘ She knows nothing of the loan,’ thought Holly, 
who was listening, profoundly moved, and pitying), “ when 
— well, when I thought it all over, I determined to see if 
you and I together could not work out this wretched alfair 
to a better end. If I could find the relatives I am seeking, 
all might be easily accomplished. The letter you brought 
me was from a person whom I thought knew, but it was 
only to tell me that they had left the place they had lived 
in — gone, no one knew whither.” 

She rose again, and going to the secretary unlocked it, 
sought and opened a secret drawer, from which she lifted 
carefully a small box tied with black ribbon. Coming back, 
she seated herself beside Holly on the sofa, and slowly, still 
like a person impelled by some irresistible force, untied the 
box and took out a miniature, which she handed her com- 
panion. 

“ Look at that picture,” she said slowly, her eyes fixed 
anxiously on Holly’s face, “ and see if you find anything 
familiar in it.” 

Holly felt, apart from the deep pity roused by Mrs. Hil- 
dreth’s mournful confession of error and suffering, thrilled 
by something, hard to say what, but almost tragical in the 
poor woman’s situation. She had never in all her fair, 
young life come in direct contact with anything base or 
more piteous than the homes and sights in Homer Street 


280 


FOR UONOR'S SAKE. 


and Mill-End had revealed. Sorrow she had known, hut 
sorrow chastened by the loving hand of the Father who 
sent it ; of crime and remorse she had read, and regarded 
as belonging to another race than that she knew ; but now 
it seemed to her almost as though she might be about to 
hear that in her own circle, among her own people, sin of a 
cruel kind had swept blackly into a life which outwardly 
had seemed so serene, and as she opened the little morocco 
case she wondered with a vague dread and reluctance what 
it might contain. 

But the face, gazing up at her from the ivory on which 
years ago it had been painted, was certainly strange to her ; 
a wonderful face — that of a young man, dark in coloring 
but richly tinted, the eyes liquid brown, the hair tossed 
from the broad brow, dusky almost to blackness. In 
feature, form and color a face ideally beautiful ; but, even 
to Dorothy’s unworldly eyes^ singularly weak, if not abso- 
lutely mean, in some of its clear-cut lines. 

“ Can you see what I mean, Dorothy ? ” said Mrs. Hildreth 
again. 

Suddenly a resemblance to Floy seemed to flash from the 
picture. To Floy ? No, where had she seen a face with 
brown eyes and black lashes on a clear pale skin like these ? 
what was it the picture suggested ? 

“ It is not Floy exactly,” she said, in a low tone, as if 
speaking her thoughts aloud. “ But I -have seen a face 
like it somewhere.” She looked away, wrinkling her pretty 
brows in the effort to remember. “ Where? ” she pondered 
aloud again. Mrs. Hildreth was trembling with anxiety 
shown even in the nervous clasping and unclasping of her 
hands. She might have given Dolly a suggestion, yet dared 
not, since her object was to see if Dolly’s memory could be 
a proof. Slowly the young girl brought her eyes back to 
the marvellously handsome, vainly weak face of the picture, 


THE BONDAGE OF DECEIT. 


281 


and in the same instant she exclaimed, “ I know / It was 
the girl I saw long ago in Beckport, with old Baker ! ” 

A great breath of relief came from the agitated woman 
at her side. 

“ Dorothy,” she said quickly, “ that is what I was wait- 
ing for ! I dared not suggest it. Do you remember the 
afternoon you spoke of the resemblance of this girl to my 
Florence ? Oh, how terrified I was lest — well — I knew 
then. I felt sure, on account of your seeing her with Peter 
Baker, it must be the same. Oh, Dorothy, I would give 
worlds to find her.” 

Mrs. Hildreth rose again, resuming that labored pacing of 
the floor. 

‘‘ Shall I tell you the stoiy now? ” she began. ‘‘No, you 
cannot help me freely just now ; but later, I must. Tiiat 
picture, I will only tell you, is my nephew’s ; he was the 
father of the girl I am searching for, to repair, to undo per- 
haps a wrong.” She looked fixedly at Dolly for a moment, 
and suddenly the girl rose and said anxiously : 

“ Do not tell me any more now, dear Mrs. Hildreth, I 
have duties, imperative ones at home ; but when the time 
comes to help you, I will if I can ; of that you may be sure ; 
and if money ” She paused, remembering with con- 

fusion that her next quarter’s money from the Homestead 
was not yet due, and of course it would be impossible to ask 
the General’s aid in such a matter. 

“ You are good, Dolly,” said Mrs. Hildreth. “ I could not 
have slept to-night without seeing you, my dear. If, as I 
do believe, the girl you saw was the one I am in search of, 
then I k7iow Baker must be aware of her present address. 
You have no idea — did you hear him address her by 
name ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, indeed,” cried Dolly eagerly, “ I never forgot . 
it. Her mother called her Addy."*^ 


282 


FOR HONORS SAKE 


“ Addy ! ” echoed Mrs. Hildreth. “ It must be the same. 
Adda was the name given in baptism.” 

Dolly, as she at last got away with no arrangement for 
immediate action, but promising future aid, felt as if she 
had been living out a chapter in some strange, exciting 
story. She hastened along the hilly street, her mind busy 
going over the day when she had seen this strangely beau- 
tiful, quiet-looking girl and her commonplace mother in 
Beckport, the afternoon tea-table talk, when Mrs. Hildreth 
had been so singularly agitated. What a comfort it would 
have been to confide all to Honor, whose shrewdness and 
common-sense had always been invaluable to Dorothy in 
her more exalted, idealizing moods ; but this, of course, was 
impracticable, for to relate the interview of this afternoon, 
tacitly confidential, would have been as much a breach of 
honor as if she had told of her recent Beckport visit, and 
as Dolly turned in The Glen gate she felt curiously, 
strangely, alone. Was it only the burden of another’s con- 
fidence, of her own action in it ? Hard, indeed, to tell, for 
the girl felt many strange, perplexingxmotions, a queer sense 
of weariness that was almost physical made her steps lag, 
and as she turned the bend in the drive she became aware 
of a hired conveyance, a hack, standing before the door. 
Some new arrival, perhaps, was her only reflection ; but on 
entering the hall, Simms, in his usual solemn manner, handed 
her a card picked up from the hall table. 

Dolly glanced at it, while the sound of voices in the 
drawing-room and blue and white parlor reached her with 
pleasant good cheer. She was glad to be among her young 
friends again. Then she smiled sadly. The card bore 
the name of “ Miss Molesworth.” 

“In the drawing-room, Miss Kent,” explained Simms. 
“ She came a few moments ago and said she would wait.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


“love,” the conjurer. 

Dorothy thought of two things as sh6 entered the beau- 
tiful firelit drawing-room, where some of her guests were 
assembled, and Pauline Molesworth was waiting for her. 
One was that this renewal of a tie long since considered 
broken was like a jump from the tragic to the comic after 
her strange and agitating interview with Mrs. Hildreth ; 
the other, that Aunt Juie’s opinion to Mr. Lee last night as 
to wherein courtesy consisted was being verified ; for the 
occupants of the room, Ada Vandeveer and Baby Gilder- 
sleeve, with Mr. Bryan and Herman Lee, were talking and 
laughing at one end, while quite remote from them sat 
Pauline, evidently very much embarrassed by her position. 
How little it would have cost either of these girls, thought 
Dolly with swift indignation, to have made Pauline com- 
fortable — have exchanged a few words with her. But their 
“ exclusiveness ” served Pauline’s purpose admirably, since 
in her annoyance Dolly infused twice as much cordiality as 
was necessary into her greeting of the girl who had never 
really been, certainly not proven herself, a friend. 

Pauline sprang forward, holding out two small gloved 
liands, and kissing Dorothy before that tall young lady had 
time to more than greet her guest. 

“ Bear Dolly,” she said plaintively^, and in the wintry 
twilight Dolly looked down compassionately at the pretty, 
silly face of the girl she had once thought a friend, feeling 
only pity for the meaningless, vapid life the other had led 

283 


284 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


long ago and probably was leading still, and then, not 
without a spice of mischief, she begged Pauline to be seated 
and with an impressive air brought Miss Van deveer for- 
ward. Baby Gildersleeve, with her usual instinct of self- 
preservation when anything likely to be a bore impended, 
had glided away, Mr. Bryan in her wake, but Mr. Lee was 
introduced, and he and Ada were forced to help their 
hostess in entertaining her caller. Meanwhile Dolly had 
disposed of her out-of-door wraps and seated herself, one of 
the oddly assorted group, thinking how much it brought 
back to see Pauline’s flushed, happy face as she rattled on, 
supremely content because she was talking to these “ swell ” 
friends of Dolly’s. But at last Ada’s calm, well managed 
“insolence” of manner, as Dolly alwa3^s called it, became 
too apparent, and the young mistress of the house offered 
her and Mr. Lee means of escape. A frigid bow and set 
smile from Ada, as she languidly moved away, a more 
courteous good-afternoon from Mr. Lee, left the old school- 
mates together, and then Pauline burst forth about Dolly’s 
“ magnificence.” 

“ Oh, Dolly,” she declared, “ to think it should be you^ 
and here ! I declare it’s like a story paper ! And are you 
really the old man’s heiress ? ” Luckily Pauline needed no 
answer and hurried on : “I know you think I was horrid 
to you that time in 'New York, and I did feel grateful for 
all you did and said ! Will }^ou ever forget that dreadful 
joke about the Englishman ? ” Pauline giggled softly. 

“Never mind,” said Dorothy, good-humoredly. “It’s 
not worth while referring to old times. I never think of 
what was disagreeable during my visit, when I can help it. 
Now tell me about j^ourself, Pauline. You are engaged ?” 

“Yes,” said the girl, her whole face, her tone, her man- 
ner, changing at once. “It has been very hard,” she 


^'LOYE:^ the conjurer. 285 

added presently, “ I don’t know quite what we are going 
to do.” 

Dorothy could not resist laying one of her hands gently 
on Pauline’s newl}^ gloved one with a sympathetic touch. 
Pauline looked down, twisting and turning the beautiful 
sapphire ring which sparkled and shone in the fireliglit, on 
Dorothy’s white finger ; suddenly a tear splashed down, 
and with one of her old airy gestures Pauline pulled out an 
embroidered handkerchief and wiped her eyes. 

There!*" she exclaimed. “’Taiii't any use to cry, and 
what do you care anyhow ?” 

“ What is the trouble, Pauline ? ” Dolly said very gently. 
Something told her there must have come real feeling, real 
earnestness into Pauline’s silly little heart to have caused 
it sorrow so demonstrative as this. 

“ Well, it’s a kind of comfort to tell you,” Pauline jerked 
out. “And goodness knows I’ve no one to care. You see I 
met Mr. Brooks last summer at Asbury, that is, I’d known 
him kinder before, but there we were just together the 
whole livelong time, and his mother and sister and ma were 
great cronies. Well, he was doing a first-rate business, but 
his talent is for drawing.” ( I regret to state Pauline said 
drawring.) “ And he’d be a regular artist if he got a 
chance. He did lovely views, oh, you'd go wild over them. 
Well, we got engaged and oh, Dolly, we were happy. I 
wish you knew him ! He ain’t a hit like the boys I used to 
know three or four years ago. The only thing is he’s too 
good for me, just as sensible. Well, just after that, ma lost 
a lot of money she’d invested in some concern, and as 
troubles never do come singly you know, Dave’s — that’s Mr. 
Brooks — boss failed and threw him out of work. He otfered 
to release me until he could pick up again, and Sopli was 
raging because I stuck to him ; but I tell you, Dolly, I wish 


286 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


we were married tliis minute ! Well, that wasn't enough, 
but Dave had to go and slip on the ice while he was look- 
ing for a situation, poor fellow, and injured his leg some- 
way so he’ll be a cripple, at least lame, all his days, and the 
worst of it is — ‘well, I may as well tell you the whole thing — 
he’s almost — well, he’s so poor he can’t even get the treat- 
ment he needs, and he cayi't take a place in a store on ac- 
count of his leg. Now he’s tr^dng from pillar to post to 
get on with his art. I wish you could see his things ! I'm 
no judge, but real good judges tell him he ought to study, 
but how, that’s the point ? ” 

“But, Pauline,” exclaimed Dorothy,' intensely interested 
in the story as well as the new development of character it 
showed in a girl whom she had supposed incapable of any 
depth of feeling. “ Excuse my asking it — but surely your 
father left you well off ? ” 

Pauline slowly shook her head. “ No. Pa said he wasn’t 
going to have any man dangling after a goose like me for 
money. Not a cent of my own till ma dies, and now she 
doesn’t know whether p’raps her affairs can be straightened 
out so’s she’ll have much more than a living — and do you 
believe it, Dolly, she doesn’t care ! Actually she say’s it’ll 
suit her better to live on a thousand a year with old Aunt 
Sophy down in Greenwich Street.” 

“ I don’t doubt she’d be happier,” said Dorothy warmly, 
a vivid recollection coming back of the day when at Mrs. 
Molesworth’s side she had listened to the poor “ rich ” 
woman’s pathetic story of her humbler girlhood — of the 
visit — blooming oasis in the wilderness of those weeks — to 
“ old Aunt Sophy,” who lived on in the Greenwich Street 
house where Mrs. Molesworth was born and bred. “ Don’t 
dissuade her, Pauline — she never liked grandeur.” 

“ Oh, I don’t care,” said Pauline with a sigh. “ Dave 


“LOVEr THE CONJURER. 


287 


and I talk and talk and plan and plan, but we don’t see our 
way out. It gets him so blue, poor fellow ! Why he’s 
obliged to live on his mother now, and she^s just scrimping 
along — and he isn’t that kind — he’s just as independent and 
manly! But what he do with that poor leg ! And oh, 

Dolly, if he could earn enough for us to take two rooms 

it would be so much better for us to be married, as I’m sure 
he needs care ! If you could see how hard he tries to look 
nice when he comes to see me !” Pauline was half sob- 
bing now. “And his collars are all frayed and ironed 
crooked ! and his coat shines so ! ” She broke down com- 
pletely now, and allowed Dolly to fold her tenderly in her 
arms while she cried noiselessly on the girl’s shoulder ! 
The old story ! Love — of a genuine, earnest kind — had 
wakened the womanhood in this girl — had touched her soul, 
bringing it’s strength to light as no other sentiment or 
ambition could have done. Shallow perhaps, lacking in 
fine feelings of a certain sort, Pauline would doubtless 
always be, and yet that there was the ring of something 
true to build on — something which would yet make a good 
active woman of her, Dorothy could not question, and there 
was something, if amusing, infinitely pathetic to Dolly in 
poor Pauline’s description of her crippled lover, struggling 
to keep up appearances “when he came to see her,” with 
frayed collar badly ironed, and a shiny coat ! This very 
fact appealed to Dolly of itself, and wakened an interest, and 
the artistic faculty — if it really existed — was sure to arouse 
her sympathy, but over and beyond that, there was a claim 
on her generous heart in the mere fact of a young man 
struggling — needing his daily bread — and without a helping 
hand ! Dolly thought of the guests — the young men 
assembled under this very roof. To how many of them or 
their friends — unless Thorndyke and Fraser could be ex- 


288 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


cepted — would the price of one of their luxuries for three 
months matter — and liow much it might be made to do 
for Pauline’s struggling, anxious lover — start him perhaps 
on a worthy “ career ” — build up an humble, but happy 
home ! 

“Pauline,” said Dorothy, as her guest dried her eyes, and 
gazed dejectedly at a richly laden cabinet near her, “ I 
want mry much to be your friend in this, and I think I can 
be of some service. I know a gentleman — an artist — who is 
enthusiastic about assisting any one with talent. He and I 
will talk it over this evening — and perhaps Mr. Brooks 
would call on him in New York ! When do you go home ? ” 

“ To-morrow,” said Pauline, more brightly. “ I thought 
I could stay, but Dave wants me to help him in a picture. 
I pose for him, for he says,” continued Pauline, with pride 
in her newly acquired knowledge, “ he must draw from the 
real thing.'''' 

“That’s hopeful,” declared Dolly, too keenly artistic 
herself not to despise imaginary work where nature was 
concerned, “and I am sure my friend will be of use. 
Then I will see myself what else we can manage.” 

Pauline was looking at her earnestly, and Dolly could 
not help observing that whereas her old school-mate’s face 
had lost some of its bloom, and perhaps sparkle, there had 
certainly come a sweetness far more attractive. The dark 
eyes were gentler, the lips had softer curves. Assuredly 
Pauline’s humbler ambitions in life had worked a charm. 

“ Dolly,” the girl said suddenly, and with a queer, half 
defiant, half sorrowful note in her voice, “ what makes you 
so good ? I Icnow you can’t like me ; I know I acted 
horrid. I guess — well I guess you’re a real Christian. I 
wish I was.” 

“ Pauline, dear,” exclaimed Dorothy gently, “ I do like 


[“ZOF^/ THE CONJURER, 


289 


you ! I always did, and I quite forgive and forget that lit- 
tle annoyance. As for the rest” — a soft light was in 
Dorothy’s eyes — “my dear, are we not all just what our 
Lord says, soldiers, some must fight on one field, some on 
another — but if it is all done for His sake, Pauline ” 

“ But,” urged the other almost petulantly, “ I know I 
ain’t good enough for the Lord even to care.” 

“ Oh, Pauline ! ” cried Dorothy, almost as if the words 
stung her — “ And He came, despised, rejected of men, just 
for the wanderers, to bring them back to the fold. Do 
you know I love that Psalm, ‘ The Lord is my Shep- 
herd,’ so dearly, just because in tired, wandering sort of 
moments there is the heavenly, delicious feeling He is 
searching for me, and by and by He will bring me back, 
and heal and care for my wounded feet.” 

Dorothy rarely trusted herself to speak in this way, 
now the deep feeling in her soul made voice and words 
magnetic. Pauline drew a quick breath, half a sob. 
“ Dave feels like that,” she said in a low' tone. 

“ Then let him talk to you, and help you, Pauline. Be- 
lieve me — once you have learned the w'ay to our Lord’s 
feet you will feel the comfort — oh, the inexpressible comfort, 
of taking even your little crosses and vexations there ! I 
can tell you what it is. Sometimes I just say to myself, 
when I am feeling badly : ‘ He knows,’ or ‘ My times 

are in thy Hands.’ It seems enough. I almost feel the 
answer like a gentle touch of some loving hand.” 

“ You, Dorothy,” said Pauline incredulously. She 
glanced expressively about the long, luxurious room, whose 
firelight shone on all that suggested ease, culture, the grace 
of inanimate objects chosen to delight the eye and senses. 
The very flowers blooming in great stands — rare hot-house 
heaped up in bowls or vases, all told a story of their 
19 


roses 


290 


FOR HONOR' S-^SAKE, 


own. ‘‘ You ! ” the girl repeated ; why, Dolly, how can 
you feel badly ? ” 

“ I,” said the other, smiling wistfully ; “ why, Pauline, my 
dear, money is far from being an unmixed joy, let me tell 
you. I have many a bother — even a heartache — think of 
yourself. You love Mr. Brooks. Would a palace and mil- 
lions buy that ? ” 

Pauline shook her head. 

“ Billions wouldn’t,” she said conclusively, and absorbed 
in the reflections Dolly’s words had roused, she did 
not observe that a deeper color had risen to the latter’s 
cheeks, nor that a certain confusion was in her way of 
changing the subject. 

‘‘ I must send your sister the tickets I promised,” she 
said, rising and touching an electric bell. “ It is too bad 
you can’t be at the tableaux, but, Pauline, I will write you 
directly I have talked to Mr. Fraser, and do keep up good 
heart. I am sure something can be done, and sooner per- 
haps than you think.” 

“You’re awful good,” again declared poor Pauline, and 
squeezing Dolly’s hand with a shy sort of affection. Simms 
appearing in the doorway, Dorothy directed him to ask 
Miss Anderson for three tableaux tickets, and as he re- 
treated, Pauline, who had watched him closely, turned back 
to her hostess to say dryly : 

“ I declare, he looks a perfect gentleman, and he’s your 
waiter, I suppose ? ” 

Dolly laughed. 

“ Well, in his way he zsboth,” she observed. “ Simms has 
been forty years in the General’s service, since he was a 
mere lad. He is perfectly well bred, really quite well edu- 
cated, and an artist in his line of work. What more could 
any ‘ gentleman ’ be ? ” 


love;' the conjurer. 


291 


‘‘ Oh, Dolly, if you aren’t the queerest^ ” exclaimed Paul- 
ine languidly. “ Oh, dear, to think of jmur having every- 
thing. Well, I’m glad for you. Now,” as Simms returned 
with the tickets in an envelope, “ I suppose I must go.” 
She rose reluctantly, fastening her wrap together, and it 
suddenly occurred to Dolly to send for some flowers for 
Pauline to take home on the morrow. A great box of ex- 
quisite blossoms was soon fllled, to Pauline’s infinite de- 
light. Apart from the pleasure in the flowers themselves — 
which, as she remarked, “ Dave would go wild over,” “ he 
knows all their names,” she added proudly — this would be 
something tangible in support of her boast of the morning 
to Sophy that Dolly would treat her well, and there was 
not a little satisfaction in the idea of showing them off as 
proofs of her friendship with the renowned heiress of The 
Glen, to the commonplace cousins she was visiting, and who 
had rather questioned her right to “ intrude ” upon Miss 
Kent. 

“ We’re not in the old house,” she said on leaving. “Ma 
had to sell that ; we have a flat,” she gave the number. 
“ And, Dolly, doiJt forget all about it ! I’d rather not raise 
poor Dave’s hopes if I thought you would,” she added 
wistfully. 

“ Forget it ! Why no^ Pauline, no indeed ! You may 
count on my interest, and I will write very soon.” 

They bade each other good-by. This time Dorothy could 
give and receive a kiss with real cordiality, for it was not 
the Pauline of old whom she had taken back into her friend- 
ship, or at least her sympathetic interest, and when she had 
seen Simms assist the girl into her carriage — impossible for 
Pauline to quite conceal her satisfaction before the hired 
cabman— Dorothy returned for a few moment’s solitude, to 
the deserted drawing-room, where she stood gazing thought- 


292 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


fully out of the deep bow window, reflecting on the varied 
incidents of the day. Surely there was enough in life to 
do and he and feel for others ? Should she not sing pseans 
of joy rather than mourn in secret ? 

Fraser’s voice startled her, and she turned to find him 
with his back to the fire gravely but smilingly observing 
her. 

“ May I offer the conventional penny for your thoughts ? ” 
he inquired. 

She laughed. “They are really worth more,” was her 
answer ; “ but — well, I can sum them up. I ^as thinking 
of compensations.” 

“ Il’m — that’s generalizing. To begin with — for what ? ” 

He was amazed by Dorothy’s startled look. 

“Whj’’, we all have the need of some of them, haven’t 
we?” she demanded, and added a trifle wearily, “Anyway, 
I felt such a demand was necessary to-day, and I was try- 
ing just now to discover if mine were forthcoming.” 

“Well?” he rested an arm on the chimney piece and 
looked at her with lines of deep, even sad thought on his 
grave face. In some way Dorothy felt sure their moods 
were in harmony. 

“You are a close questioner ! ” she smiled sadly. “But 
I will reassure you, if you ever find yourself in the same 
frame of mind, by saying I find I have compensations, great 
'ones ; my doubt is,” she spoke hurriedly and in a low tone, 
“ first, whether I have taken any — any trials I might have 
felt, humbly enough ; then, whether I am worthy the com- 
pensations.” 

“ The laborer is worthy of his hire,” said Fraser slowly. 
He seemed following a train of thought of his own with 
hers. 


“ Ah ! but do I labor ? ” 


^^LOYEr THE CONJURER 


293 


“Yes”; he brought his honest, dark glance quickly to 
the sweet, troubled face of the girl now standing beside 
him. “Miss Dorothy, I have watched you closely. I know 
you are not vain glorious, let me say. Yes^ your hand at 
the plough, do you know,” he smiled queerly, “has steadied 
mine ! Only this very winter, I believe, but for that mine 
might have weakened ; so you see,” he added, trying to as- 
sume a lighter tone, “you little knew what example was 
doing ; is that not a compensation ? ” 

She was looking at him incredulously yet infinitely 
pleased. 

“ I can scarcely believe it, but oh, I do feel grateful,” she 
exclaimed eagerly, and then remembering her promise to 
Pauline, seized upon this rare chance for a tete-a-tete to 
tell the story of poor “ Dave.” 

Fraser, as she expected would be the case, was quickly 
interested, as what artist is not where a struggling student 
is concerned ? 

“By Jove, that’s a tough place for him to be in,” he de- 
clared, rumpling up his hair as usual when excited. “ I’ll 
look him up at once ! If there’s any stuff in him we can 
surely give him a helping hand.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


A STRANGE ENCOUNTER. 

The six o’clock tea, a bountiful repast, as Sybil observed 
like an “evening wedding breakfast,” assembled all tbe 
company in the gayest of spirits, and even Dolly, whose va- 
rious preoccupations had caused her to droop a little, re- 
vived, and catching the infection was the merriest at the 
table. The young people made great fun out of the curiosity 
evinced during the day by loungers about the hall, where 
Fraser and Alfred and Mr. Bryan had been coming and 
going all daj^ They reported various comments. 

“ Bryan, you are evidently marked as the hero,” Fraser 
said, laughing. “ When you came down the steps of the 
hotel I heard that freckled youth call out, ‘ There goes one 
of the play actors.’ ” 

“Just by way of trying the effect,” declared Alfred, “I 
decked old Fraser’s head with Elaine’s wreath of roses, and 
he utterly forgot he had it on and went outside to interview 
one of the carpenters. We simply howled^ not one could 
speak.” 

“ Well, you gesticulated wildly enough,” said Donald, 
as the laughter subsided, even Miss Gildersleeve participat- 
ing faintly in the mirth provoked by the picture of Donald 
garlanded thus, “ when I came up the steps.” 

“ When you came up the steps,” said Alfred, “ I protest, 
you were enough to make a Trappist talk. Can’t you im- 
agine him with his most savage expression — eye-glasses 

294 


A STRANGE ENCO UNTER. 2 G5 

firmly placed, and the innocent childish little band of 
flowers sideways on his brow ! ” 

“Oh, laugh on,” said Fraser grimly, “I’ll pay you out 
yet. Don’t be afraid. Well, I only hope the machinery, 
properties, and everything are all right. I intend going to 
a sanitarium when this affair is over. Rainey ought to 
allow me my expenses.” 

An hour later there was a general flying about for the 
warmest wraps of all kinds, and the entire party set forth 
gayly in the frosty moonlight to walk down to the hall. 
Dorothy, with no premeditation on either side, found her- 
self under Thorndyke’s escort, and it was her first chance 
to detail Pauline’s visit, which she did, making the picture 
as soft for her old schoolmate as possible, dwelling sympa- 
thetically on her lover’s perplexing condition. 

“ Well, upon my word,” said Alfred, with his head high 
and looking straight at Dorothy in the glistening light. 
“ So, after all, it turns out you are to be her beneficent 
genius.” 

“ Via Mr. Fraser,” she said lightly. “ I have discovered 
of late that I have actually a place to fill. I am a most 
useful go-hetween. I shall never amount to anything else, 
so I may as well work out a useful destiny in this way.” 

“ But when your ideal statesman comes along ? ” He 
smiled down upon her quizzically. “Eh, Mistress Doro- 
thy?” 

“Ah,” said the girl softly, “^Am will be our planned 
Arcadia ! ” She sighed. “ I haven’t yet decided just what 
I’d like him to have for a specialty. Sometimes I think of 
the Indian Question ; always when I so much as dip into ‘ A 
Century of Dishonor then Prisons seem to me the grandest 
arena.” 

“ But might not he do as good work,” said Thorndyke 


2D6 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


quietly, ‘‘ in simply fulfilling l)is daily round of duties with 
a clear conscience — honest endeavor — clean hands ? ” 

‘‘ That would be fine in its way — but no — you see,” 
she turned toward him, smiling, “ I feel a queer kind of 
supei’fluous energy in me for things which it is hard to 
accomplish alone ; but I’d like,” — with a merry twinkle in 
her eyes, — “ I’d like to help my statesman, as you call him.” 

‘‘ You’d bind any one you loved in silken chains, Dolly,” 
the young fellow said, with an odd laugh. 

But Dolly shook her head. “ Not a bit of it ! ” she said. 
“You have no idea, my ambitions were fulfilled, how 
rough a path I might like to tread, at his side.” 

There was a strange earnestness in her tone, and it 
flashed across Alfred’s mind how it would be if, the trap- 
pings of wealth laid aside, he and she were to set out 
together on the roughest of any roads in life’s journey. 
Her words had revived the old Utopian longings which had 
given the first days of their comradeship such poetic charm. 
Might nqt Dorothy after all, with her almost ideal passion- 
ate love of humanity and heroic impulse for some wide 
schemes of well doing, be in the right? Surely the race of 
heroes could belong to the nineteenth as well as the centu- 
ries before Christ’s coming had given the lining to their 
armor needed in the thickest of the fight. Alfred was 
silent'; vague, strange doubts, feelings, impulses conflicting 
within him. He had told Dorothy not long ago, that he 
was never nowadays quite sure of which was the real — 
which the merely theatrical side of life ; and now, as they 
neared the hall, he found himself wondering whether it 
might not be that what had seemed the fantastic and im- 
possible, or the calcium-lighted heroic, was in simple fact the 
genuine, earnest part men and women could and ought to 
play ? Surely this clear-eyed, steadfast girl at his side rec- 


A STBANGB ENGOUNTEB. 


297 


onciled the elements of self-sacrifice and simple, happy 
duties and enjoyments with marvellous skill ; hut once, when 
he had asked her how^ she had laughed, but touched a little 
cross she wore. “ Say it, Alfred,” had been her only an- 
swer. Out of a curious jumble of thoughts came a portion 
of the Testament which had always possessed a peculiar 
attraction for him. Saul’s conversion had a fascination 
which he tried to ascribe to himself as merely intellectual ; 
the admiration, the same that he would have paid to any 
man courageous in his convictions, casting off the yoke of 
one idea when the truth of another was borne in upon heart 
and brain and soul ; yet underlying it had been an eager, 
restless, tormenting desire to say with Saul, ‘‘ Lord, what 
wilt thou have me to do ? ” 

Thorndyke’s spare, handsome face wore its preoccupied 
grave look for a moment, as they came out of the moon- 
light into the hall ; but his serious reflections soon gave way 
before the animation of the rehearsal. 

There was a confusion of hand-shakings, greetings, 
queries, exclamations as the whole party assembled, and 
then it was that Dolly observed Fred Marston’s absence. 
Miss Jane too was not here ? Nona explained she had 
business to attend to at home, and that she was not feel- 
ing well. The posing began directly ; costumes could be 
donned, and indeed no fairer scene could have been desired 
than this first of the Sleeping Beauty series, where Miss 
Gildersleeve, fairer than any picture, stood among her 
guests at the birthday festivities, just before the fatal spin- 
ning wheel was touched. Fraser had pleaded an artist’s 
license, and introduced the distaff into the picture to pro- 
duce a striking effect when, at a clap of (stage) thundei-, 
all poses were changed, and to slow music sleep fell upon 
the Beauty’s Court. 


298 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


Miss Gildersleeve, with her faint sweet smile, moved 
away amid general applause after the final tableaux, and 
then Dorothy, in her bewitching ‘‘Dolly Varden,” with 
Emma Haresdale, appeared. Applause was long again, and 
repeated when Dolly and Florence Hildreth portrayed 
“ Rebecca and Rowena.” 

Long afterward, Dorothy wondered how it was her gaze 
shifted uneasily and she turned her head almost involunta- 
rily toward the furthermost door of the hall ; but no doubt 
it was the result which so often comes from being steadily, 
eagerly, fixedly watched by any pair of eyes. Certain it 
is that Dorothy’s gaze met another’s with swift directness ; 
the gaze of a pair of quiet, commonplace brown eyes, in a 
commonplace middle-aged face ; that of a stranger — a 
wmman, who was standing just a trifle inside the door and 
who regarded her with this fixed, critical, not particularly 
expressive glance, and whom suddenly, and feeling as though 
the room were whirling about her, Dorothy recognized as 
the woman whom she had seen in the Beckport Inn — 
“ Addy’s ” mother ! 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


MRS. LEONARD MAKES A CALL. 

Dolly felt for an instant too bewildered, too startled to 
move or speak ; but in the next second the “ pose ” was dis- 
turbed, and declaring herself a little faint, she hastened into 
the dressing room, thence to the reception parlor in whose 
open doorway the stranger had been standing. What she 
expected, or hoped, or looked for it would have been diffi- 
cult to say, and yet as she rushed along, there was a vague 
feeling as of something more important than she dared 
to question, in the very air. There were only one or two 
maids in the little parlor — the doorway was vacant. 

Dolly stood still, dismayed, and the servants who had 
accompanied some of their “ ladies ” here looked at her in 
her rich, picturesque costume, with speechless and un- 
feigned admiration. 

“ Where did she go ? ” demanded Dolly eagerly, looking 
from one to the other anxiously ; “ the woman who was in 
that doorway a moment ago.” 

“ Why, she went down the hall. Miss Kent, just now,” 
said Mrs. Neil’s Annie, who was one of the maids and well 
pleased to be the spokeswoman. 

“Was she — looking for any one?” Dorothy asked 
quickly. 

“ I don’t think so, miss, she just strolled in — Oh, yes, 
she asked if you was Miss Kent — didn’t she, Nellie ? And 
then went out again.” 

“ Oh, Annie, run after her quickly — do^ please. I want 
299 


300 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


very much to see her,” exclaimed Dorothy, annoyed that 
her costume precluded her from giving chase in person. 

Bring her back, if possible.” 

Dorothy had made some excuse for leaving the group in 
the stage dressing room, and waited now with feverish im- 
patience for the maid’s return. It seemed to her she was a 
long time gone ; but in five minutes she came back, quite 
breathless in her own anxiety to fulfill “ the young lady’s 
orders.” “ Not a sign of her, miss,” she said, with her hand 
on her chest, “ and Kitty Jones says she just passed out 
and went right down the road.” 

Dorothy thanked the girl mechanically, and then, with 
her hand on her head, tried to think what could be done. 
At last it seemed wisest to notify Mrs. Hildreth at once, at 
least of what had happened. Annie willingly went for 
writing materials, and was well pleased to do a still further 
service for Miss Kent, taking a note to the widow’s cottage 
only two blocks away. 

“ The woman I saw with Addy — her mother, came here 
to the door for an instant and just stared at me. She has 
vanished, and I am only in hope she has gone to your house. 
Please let me know by bearer. — D. K.” 

This despatched, Dorothy slowly, and feeling like one in 
a dream which might at any moment prove a nightmare, 
slowly rejoined the others, and her pale cheeks easily ac- 
counted for the rumor which had gone about, that she was 
“ not well.” She seated herself in a busily talking group, 
while the “ Elaine ” tableaux were preparing, but seeing 
and hearing nothing clearly, felt relieved when, half an hour 
later, Annie returned with an answer to her note from Mrs. 
Hildreth’s. The widow’s usually precise caligraphy was 
not evident in the lines scrawled across the paper. “ No, 
no, not here ; where can she be — who Avill find her, or how ? 


ME8. LEONARD MAKES A CALL. 


301 


Bear Dolly, what does it mean? Can’t you see me 
soon ? ” 

Dolly, as she tore the paper into fragments, felt almost 
in despair ! What did it mean, sure enough ? Yet what 
was there to do ? A sense of utter poweiiessness, chiefly 
because of the secrecy involved, made her feel almost like 
bursting into tears, but there was her “ call ” — the Puritan 
scene in which she was to figure came next, and then the 
really ingenious Bluebeard tableaux — the one where Fatima 
discovers the wives being admirably devised, and Fatima 
herself, Sybil Thorndyke, the picture of girlish, piquant 
loveliness and despair. 

At last all was over, and the young hostess of the merry 
company was only too glad when they were on their home- 
ward way. To go that evening to Mrs. Hildreth was im- 
possible — her only chance lay in the very early morning 
before breakfast, or the household was astir, and she would 
have to take the risk of Floy’s wonderment or questions as 
to the cause of such an unconventional visit. 

Meanwhile the stranger, who had so unexpectedly compli- 
cated matters for Dorothy and Mrs. Hildreth, had walked 
quietly away from the hotel and down the road in the di- 
rection of River Street. There was a particular fixity in her 
expression, yet a degree of something more like animation 
than she had shown even when so deliberately and critically 
staring at Dolly. She half smiled to herself in the moon- 
light, once or twice, with the air of a person satisfied with 
something that has happened or been accomplished, and 
now and again nodded her head sagely. When she came 
to the River House she went in the gate and up the short 
box walk with the same calm deliberation of manner, and 
knocked lightly on the door, which was almost instantly 
opened by Frederick himself. 


302 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


The young man was rather pale and worn-looking, but 
he made an effort to smile and a little show of welcome. 

Come in, Mrs. Leonard,” he said cheerfully. I will 
ask you to step down the hall, please, to this room just at 
the end.” 

He led the way with as much courtesy as though his vis- 
itor had been a person of great consequence, opening the 
door of a shabbily furnished little room he called his “ den,” 
but which, however, under Miss Jane’s rule, was scrupu- 
lously neat and clean. 

A lamp was burning brightly on the table and Frederick 
motioned his visitor to a seat in its glow, himself taking 
the one at the other side, while he at once produced from 
a drawer a bundle of papers. 

“ I don’t know quite what to do with these,” he said 
slowly. “ But I suppose on the whole, they will be as safe 
with you as any one else ? ” He looked at her sharply. 
‘‘ Particularly as you think you are on the right track, but 
going over them, I thought best to make copies ” 

Mrs. Leonard interrupted him. 

“It’s no consequence to me, Mr. Marston,” she said 
quickly, “ as long as you’re willing to swear the copies are 
all right, that’s all I want. I ain’t going into any court of 
law ! ” she added, with a faint smile tinged with scorn. 

“ No, no ; I suppose not,” said Fred quickly, and smiling 
himself with more satisfaction than he cared to display; 
“ and you may rely on their being absolutely correct. Now I 
have only one request to make. I am going away directly 
after my marriage. In consideration for all the trouble I 
have taken for you, and I assure you it has been no easy 
matter— will you promise me, on your word of honor, to 
communicate with none of these people, take no steps, until 
I return in March. It will only be two months.” 


MRS, LEONARD MAKES A CALL. 


303 


Mrs. Leonard drew her brows together slightly while she 
considered the proposition. Meanwhile Fred watched her 
face narrowly. It was by no means a bad face. If not 
particularly intelligent, or at least intellectual, it had noth- 
ing mean or coarse about it. On the contrary there was a 
certain strength of character in some of the lines ; the broad 
brow, the quiet, but honest eyes, set well apart, the square, 
well moulded chin ; it was one of those faces which have 
never been pretty in girlhood but may be comely in middle 
age, and there was certainly a look of some power, if only 
that of self-control, as well as common sense about it. Fred 
was still looking seriously at her when she raised her eyes 
and said conclusively : 

“ I will wait until March. Say the 28th of March.” 

“Very well, Mrs. Leonard, I can’t ask any more”; he 
leaned back in his chair with a reflective sigh. “ Of course 
I can’t push you to tell me anything you surmise, or sus- 
pect, or ” 

“ No,” said Mrs. Leonard, in the same quiet way, but her 
fingers played a little nervously with the string of the 
papers she held. “ I think I have done all I should in 
promising to wait. I’d rather keep my own counsel for 
a while, I think, and after all it may come to nothing. 
Anyhow I’d rather not. ’Tisn’t my way to talk.” 

“ So much the better, of course,” assented Fred, with a 
light laugh ; but he added, “ However, I took the trouble to 
hunt you up you know, and ” 

“ Oh, but Mr. Marston,” said Mrs. Leonard quietly, “ you 
had your own reasons, you said. It was to find out why 
that Mrs. Hildreth should have wanted to see me again — 
and then Avhen I told Baker, he gave me all the trouble of 
moving again.” 

“ Well, any way, as you say, keeping your own counsel is 


304 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


best. Don’t let him know of this, because I’m inclined to 
think he’d start you on the move again.” 

The woman’s quiet face showed for the first time some 
strong feeling. It colored quickly, almost painfully. 

“ I wouldnH do that,” she said hurriedl}^ ‘‘ Even to suit 
Mm. She’s not strong enough. New scenes and people 
disturb her.” 

She rose, slipping the papers into a little satchel and pre- 
pared to leave. 

‘‘ I’ll send you my address,” said Fred, leading the way to 
the door again. “ Now good-by, Mrs. Leonard, and take care 
of yourself.” 

Mrs. Leonard answered with her grave smile, and nodded 
her head good-by ; half lingering in the box walk until she 
was sure the door had closed behind her. Then she delib- 
erately stood still in the moonlight and looked at the Gen- 
eral’s house in its setting of wintry lawn and cedars. Lights 
were streaming out upon the drive and the frosty branches of 
the trees ; figures moved back and forth, now and then, past 
uncurtained windows. It looked what it was, a beautiful, 
cheery, and luxurious home, the embodiment of warmth 
and light, and comfort, especially on a bitter night like this. 
Mrs. Leonard was very warmly and comfortably clad ; by 
no means one simply to envy the rich man his abundant 
fireside, but she gave a little shiver. 

“ Queer, if it should turn out so,” she reflected, as she 
turned down the crisp road again. ‘‘ Might be — but some- 
how, I’d rather it didn’t.” 

Frederick Marston, left alone, sat for a time plunged in 
thought, staring moodily into the half-burned fire in the 
little grate before him. How eager he was to be married 
and away, no one knew or guessed but himself. With 
all the energy and skill of which he was capable, indeed 


MRS. LEONARD MAKES A CALL. 


305 


with all the honesty in him, and poor Fred at no time 
had stooped to actual baseness, he had been struggling 
to right himself, to return Dorothy’s generous loan, to 
escape out of old Baker’s clutches. When, simply to 
gratify Florence, he had discovered the whereabouts of 
Mrs. Leonard and ‘‘ Addy,” and found that Baker’s evil 
genius hovered there as well, he had applied all his cun- 
ning and legal skill to the ferreting out of the secret of 
Baker’s hold over them. N'ot because he cared for any 
question it involved, but because the knowledge might be 
useful when he wished to free himself from the hateful 
net Baker went on remorselessly weaving. He had no de- 
sire to defraud the old miser of money honestly due him ; 
but well he knew what added usury meant and how the 
money-lender could shame him, perhaps imperil his coveted 
place of honor and respect in the new office and grieve his 
father to the heart’s core. With what bitterness of regret 
did not the young fellow reproach himself for having ever 
allowed these toils to be wound about him, and the desire to 
break loose, happily for Fred’s future, came quite as much 
from a longing to be master of himself and regain his self- 
respect as to avoid disgrace. Such information, such facts, 
or rather suspicions, as had been gleaned and put together 
in the Leonard case, amounted to just enough to intimidate 
Baker into loaning him certain papers, copies of which he 
had given Mrs. Leonard on this evening, but would be 
quite insufficient to do much more without Mrs. Leonard’s 
hearty co-operation, and this, as we have seen, she preferred 
not giving him at present. But it would come in time he 
felt sure, and then, no doubt, she would be only too thank- 
ful for legal services rendered gratis, especially as he would 
then be in a position of independence and some importance, 
if all went well. But meanwhile there remained fresh 


306 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


vexations. Money must be paid to Baker, and in some 
way, if possible, his Aunt Jane’s slender capital loaned him 
so freely for “ investment,” and really invested as well 
as he knew how, must be replaced — for needless to say, 
like many other airy fabrics of poor Fred’s castle-building 
days, every farthing of the good lady’s money was lost. 

This was by no means the first time Fred had revolved 
the matter painfully in his mind. Indeed the pre-occupa- 
tion which Floy had often complained of, and Dorothy 
more than once remarked, but which every one attributed 
to his new responsibilities, was wholly due to these entan- 
gled cares, these dreads of what “ might ” happen. That 
peculiar vanity of Fred’s, that streak of littleness in the 
young man’s whole nature, winding in and out of stronger 
fibres, like a weak thread which loosened those about it, 
made him shrink wholly from applying to some one more 
clear-headed and wise than himself for honest counsel. 
He had thought of Thorndyke, but rejected the idea lest he 
consider himself too superior for such a “ tale of woe.” His 
father would be only plunged in perplexity and grief. 
Aunt Jane he could not undeceive. In any case he shrank 
from the acknowledgment of error or even foolishness, 
especially at this moment when his family and friends re 
garded him as a very important person, about to marry so 
well, and starj off on such a responsible journey for his 
“ office.” No, Frederick spurned the idea of giving such a 
confidence unless it could be carefully done, to the one who 
had been he always declared his “ good angel.” But, when a 
day or two previous, an idea of talking matters over with 
Dorothy had occurred to him, he had gone carefully into 
consideration of all that it would involve, as well as of the 
amounts of his indebtedness to Baker and Miss Jane 
Shrink as he might from the ordeal of asking Dorothy for 


MRS. LEONARD MAKES A CALL. 


307 


a fresh loan, Fred liad not the slightest hesitation about 
putting forth every kind of an argument and means of per- 
suasion to induce her to “ see her way,” as he called it, to 
helping him out of his “ last trouble ” and his engagement — 
fast approaching marriage — poor Miss Jane’s anguish when 
slie found herself nearly penniless and with her darling 
Anna Maria on her hands, all of these points, to say noth- 
ing of the moral effect upon his whole future, would be 
made the very most of in placing the matter before her 
for generous consideration ; and, with a view toward her 
possible yielding, he had actually gone so far as to hunt up 
a party who would confidentially advance the money on 
the security of the Homestead. Fred felt too uncertain of 
just how matters might turn out not to be prepared for an 
emergency ; and, at this very moment papers for Dolly, if she 
would, to sign, lay locked in his table drawer. 

How it had occurred to him he could not say, but Fred’s 
brain was fertile and ingenious where his own needs were 
concerned, and like a flash had come to him an idea of 
leaguing Dolly with him in the Leonard matter. At least in 
this fashion, lest Baker make any trouble in his absence, he 
could consign to Dorothy’s keeping the originals of the let- 
ters he had copied for Mrs. Leonard, bid her then read them 
and use her discretion in extorting from the miserable old 
man the whole story. It might not do to suggest to Dolly 
that the affair very nearly and closely concerned herself, 
perhaps her future interests, but at least it would 
strengthen his position to give her a hint that she might 
find a personal duty involved in the matter, and that it 
would become her special work to prevent Baker from 
doing any more harm by his miserable scheming and deceit. 
Dorothy, he was sure, could be relied upon where a sense of 
duty was concerned, and there would be a grim satisfaction 


308 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


all around in outwitting an old man who had for years 
wrought only misery and often ruin n so many homes. 
Once free from this immediate trouble, once married and 
on his way to Mexico, Fred felt as if he could snap his 
fingers at the past and look forward hopefully to the future ; 
and he was still wildly in love with Florence, who, to do 
her justice, was really fond enough of him to be glad he 
was the one to rescue her from oblivion and bring so much 
chance or hope of luxury into her life. More, who could 
expect from such a nature, and in these days of early ardor 
Fred missed nothing. She was, generally speaking, sweet 
and gracious to him ; she listened to the Mexican plans with 
a pretty show of interest, had been quite animated on 
learning they were to take “ letters to the OTvner of a fine 
hacienda^ and was in the best of spirits over the elaborate 
trousseau being prepared. The fact that the wedding was 
to be a very quiet one pleased her well enough, because she 
had determined on special festivities later ; and altogether 
Fred considered himself, for once in his life, in a fair way to 
success, both in matters of the heart and business, if oiAj 
Dorothy’s generosity should not this time be found at 
fault. 


CHAPTER XL. 


DOLLY WRITES AN IMPORTANT LETTER. 

It would require a vivid pen indeed to describe the flut- 
ter and excitement, not to say fascinations of the next day 
at The Glen, and in various houses, indeed, throughout 
Beckford. The tableaux vivants had become the impor- 
tant, and indeed, as some of the male members of the dif- 
ferent families declared, the only question of the hour ! 
When Dr. Xeil complained of his morning coffee, he was 
severely reminded that Annie had been up so late and so 
busy “ helping ” about the tableaux. “ You don’t say,” 
observed the good-natured doctor dryly. “ Why, is she in 
them ? ” 

Mrs. Rainey, who had at first sternly protested against 
the idea of the entertainment at all, had gradually 
been induced to see that the amusement was innocent in 
itself, and if the affair was being given for simple pleasure, 
why not combine it with profit for her son’s really needy, 
almost destitute parishioners. Curiously enough, it was 
Sybil Anderson, of all people, who had won the old lady 
over to this comfortable view of things. As for the River 
House, the excitement was quite sufficient even to satisfy 
Winifred’s exorbitant demands ; and perhaps in all of Fra- 
ser’s “company” no two could be found prouder or 
happier than Winnie and her chum Mary, as they arrayed 
themselves in their picturesque revolutionary dresses for 
the scene, “Christmas in Old Virginia — Home sweet 
Home,” the grand finale of the evening’s programme. Of 


310 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


course they figured elsewhere ; they were of a useful age, 
and came in very well, while their self-satisfaction and 
mutual admiration knew no bounds. It had been at one 
time faintly suggested by Dolly that, at this rate, all of 
Beckford seemed to be taking part and there would be no 
audience, but she was reassured by the sale of tickets 
which proved that people from “ all parts,” as Simms con- 
fidentially-informed her, with a majestic sweep of his hand 
which might well include Africa and Japan, were coming. 
“ And I hear it said. Miss Dorothy,” said that functionary, 
in tones of deep importance, “that there won’t be half 
room enough, and there’s to be a petition made for it to be 
given again. Yes, Miss.” 

Dolly’s faithful Jane was constantly bringing reports 
from the village people betokening their anxiety to see the 
performance, and it may have been some such humble gossip 
which had induced Dolly to urge that the tickets be sold 
at a low figure. “For,” she argued to Mrs. Yandeveer, 
whose eye-glasses went up in horror at the idea of twenty- 
five-cent tickets, “what earthly difference can it make 
whether we charge twenty-five cents or two dollars ? The 
roughest kind of person might be able to pay the largest 
price, like old Matthews at the mill ; and the very nicest 
people in the village can just about afford the smaller sum, 
and it isn’t at all likely we’d fill the hall any way, at 
two dollars a ticket.” 

In spite of her domineering tendencies, Mrs. Yandeveer 
had to be overruled by a girl who was of so much conse- 
quence as the General’s ward ; moreover her maternal 
bosom was occupied by something of far more importance. 
There could be no doubt, whatever, that Ada was on the 
“ eve of a very distinguished alliance,” for the Honorable 
Mr. Le Mesurier’s attentions were most marked, and 


DOLLY WRITES AN IMPORTANT LETTER. 311 

Englishmen, as the astute woman of “ society ” knew, were 
very cautious not to show a preference unless they “ meant 
something.” When he and Ada had first met, at one of 
the “Antiques” a winter previous, Mrs. Vandeveer had 
carefully investigated the Le Mesurier pretensions, and 
found them quite satisfactory even for “a Vandeveer.” 
Since then, since his ideas were apparently so clear, she 
and Ada had talked the matter over, the daughter true to 
her bringing up, opposing no foolish sentimentality on the 
score of age or any previous flutterings of the heart she 
might have felt for such “ inelegibles,” matrimonially 
speaking, as Donald Fraser for example, and this visit to 
The Glen had been precisely what was needed to bring 
matters to a prosperous climax. The strong attractions of 
a girl like Dolly Kent had been feared at first, but soon 
were proven not dangerous. Indeed from the first day of 
the visit Mrs. Vandeveer had decided Dorothy was too in- 
dependent and unconventional a girl to please a man of Mr. 
Le Mesurier’s irreproachable good taste . and ideas of 
women. “ Charming girl, of course,” she had once said to 
him, when he indulged in a chance hint of admiration of 
Dolly’s sweet high-spirited way of doing and seeming. 
“But a little too democratic, I think, Mr. Le Mesurier. 
Noblesse oblige. Don’t you agree with me ? ” 

The Englishman laughed. 

“I agree as to the force of the motto,” he admitted, 
“ but to my way of thinking. Miss Kent bears it out.” 

“ Oh, I don’t mean she is a hoyden like Sybil Anderson,” 
said Mrs. Vandeveer, with rising color. “But — well, is it 
not a little too far to go when she says she only sees rank 
in individuality. That was one of her speeches last night.” 

Le Mesurier smiled. He recalled vividly the arch look 
on Dolly’s face as she had so spoken, the grace and dignity 


312 


FOB HONOR'S SAKE. 


of her bearing at the moment, the spirited way in which 
she had answered one of Mrs. Vandeveer’s most sweeping 
condemnatory remarks about the “ middle classes,” mean- 
ing some very nice, good-natured, if commonplace people 
from the village, who had called about tickets. “ Yes,” 
Dolly had said gayly, I admit we have our right to ranks 
and degrees of rank. I belong to the middle class, if you 
like, and so do you, Mrs. Vandeveer, because, while we are 
well born and I suppose well bred, there is nothing par- 
ticular about us, one way or the other. We are just like 
dozens of other people. Mr. Fraser here is quite above us ; 
I should call him a peer because he is such an artist and the 
architect of his own fortunes, let us say ; and Miss Gilder- 
sleeve, in the next room, has her rights because she is such 
an absolute beauty ; and Mr. Thorndyke, you are a knight 
at least, because you are going off on that important delega- 
tion. If you do your country proud you deserve a peer- 
age in our kind of nobility. Mind you,” the girl had added, 
with very proud eyes, and that peculiarly flashing smile 
which enthusiasm sent to her sweet lips, “ I’m not saying I 
don’t believe in the nobility of good-breeding, even gentle 
birth and all that refinement means, only I’d rather clasp 
hands with a useful, intelligent peasant than an idle, half- 
educated prince.” 

“ What on earth will be done with all the General’s 
money, when Dolly has it absolutely, I don’t know,” Mrs. 
Vandeveer had remarked later to Ada in their own room. 

The fact of having to see Mrs. Hildreth, if only to calm 
her nerves, and the knowledge that she could not absent 
herself from her guests once they were assembled on this 
important day, induced Dolly to rise very early, and by 
half-past seven she had hastily swallowed a cup of coffee 
and was on her way to the cottage. The maid who ad- 


DOLLY WRITES AN IMPORTANT LETTER. 313 


mitted her soon brought down a message from Mrs. Hil- 
dreth, asking her to go at once to that lady’s room, and 
thither Dolly hastened, wondering how or what she should 
find. 

It seemed to her that the dark cold face on the pillows 
looked years older, even the past week, but a glow of ani- 
mation lighted the poor woman’s eyes and cheeks as Dor- 
othy, moved by genuine compassion, bent to kiss her brow. 

“ Oh, Dorothy,” she exclaimed, holding fast by the warm 
young hand she clasped in her own, “ what are we to do ? 
Sit down, dear, you don’t know all I fear from Mrs. Leon- 
ard’s going there to stare at you — in fact, her being here 
at alV'* 

“ Why me in particular ? ” smiled Dorothy, seating her- 
self near the bed and throwing back her wrap. “ I am sure 
it was at me she was looking, but I can’t imagine why.” 

“lean,” said Mrs. Hildreth gravely. “When I see my 
way a little, I will tell you why. It will be a long story.” 

Keenly as her interest and even curiosity were aroused, 
Dolly dreaded deeper or more perplexing confidences just 
at present, and she hastened to say, “ We certainly can only 
wait a little; perhaps try to get the papers from poor old 
Baker.” 

“ That is it ! ” exclaimed the widow eagerly, and half 
lifting herself on her elbow, she drew nearer to her bed a 
small table containing writing materials, a book, night- 
lamp, etc. 

“ It will not matter if you write a line to him, dear, be- 
cause he knows you were my messenger before,” said Mrs. 
Hildreth anxiously. “It will only be to ask him what 
price he will take for the papers in question ; it can be per- 
fectly vague ; he will never think you care personally.” 

Dolly only hesitated half a moment. She had neither 


314 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE, 


the hesitation illiterate people show about “ writing down ” 
anything lest it imply too much, nor the worldly wisdom 
which would have dictated prudence in any written com- 
munication on business to a man like Baker, and to her it 
seemed only an easy and natural solution of the present 
phase in the problem. Accordingly, a few moments later, a 
brief note, dictated by Mrs. Hildreth, was written, and read 
as follows : 

Dear Sir : 

Be kind enough to let me know what price you will take for the 
papers in your possession of which we spoke at Beckport the other 
day. Very truly, 

Dorothy Kent. 

The date was added, the envelope stamped and addressed, 
and the answer, it was decided, had best be sent directly to 
Dolly. Her mail was always handed her without criti- 
cism. 

This accomplished, Dorothy made haste to leave, feeling 
anxious not only to end the interview, but to be home be- 
fore the household were all stirring. She scarcely heeded 
Mrs. Hildreth’s murmured but earnest thanks, hurrying 
away and out into the road as the clocks were striking 
eight. 

Only the servants were about, and Dorothy flew to her 
own room and made some slight alterations in her dress, 
then downstairs, being as usual, the first in the dining- 
room. 

Thence, the day sped on with its flutters, its comings and 
goings from the hall, its brief tete-a-tetes here and there be- 
tween Ada and Mr. Le Mesurier, Honor and Donald, who 
were anxious to snatch a few moments for a ‘‘ sitting,” the 
last touches being needed for the portrait, and five o’clock 
found the lower rooms deserted. Upstairs a friendly 


DOLLY WRITES AN IMPORTANT LETTER. 315 


group were gathered in Emily Anderson’s room, “ talking 
over ” things and people as girls love to do, and Dolly was 
in the midst of a story about some village people when 
Jane tapped at the door and, summoning her young mis- 
tress outside, informed her that Mr. Marston, Mr. Fred- 
erick, would like to see her below for a few moments. 
Dolly, who had been certainly rather overstrung the past 
few days, had just been enjoying the girlish fun and chat- 
ter, the time-worn but good old jokes of the quartette — 
the sense of ease and comfort and idleness, as they all sat 
or curled on the rug about Emily’s fire, and I am afraid it 
was not with a very good grace that she tore herself away 
from the friendly circle in response to Master Fred’s sum- 
mons. 

“ I’ll be right back, girls,” she said, in leaving. “ It’s 
only Fred Marston ; I shan’t let him stay long.” 

“ Only Fred Marston,” said Alice Throgmorton, as the 
frou-frou of Dolly’s silk tea-gown died away. “ Why, I 
thought he was a very great personage.” 

‘‘ He wasn’t once, hu^ he is now,” observed Honor. “ He’s 
in a good ofiice, and he’s going to he married to the beauti- 
ful Rebecca you have raved over so, Alice.” 

“ Oh, is7iH she just lomlyf sighed Alice, who, like most 
girls of nondescript blonde tint, admired the dark, glowing 
type of which certainly Florence was a lovely representa- 
tive. 

Dorothy found Frederick, after going into the two draw- 
ing-rooms, in the library. He had especially desired Simms 
to put him there, and as the young mistress of the house 
entered, he turned from the window where he had been 
gazing out— his hat, a silk one, and gloves in his hand ; 
his costume, a careful one, the conventional Prince Albert, 
etc., all betokening that he had just come from or was 


316 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


about to make a visit of ceremony. But liis fair, handsome 
face was pale to the lips ; his eyes were bright, but showed 
anxiety and fatigue. 

“ Well, Fred?” said Dolly brightly. She sat down in a 
low easy chair, her pretty blue silk draperies falling about 
her, her face kindly in its expression as she looked up at 
the young fellow standing near the table, but growing a 
trifle serious as she observed his profound dejection. 

Fred flung himself into a chair, tossed his .gloves into his 
hat on the table, and leaned his head low down upon his 
hand. When he again raised his eyes, Dorothy was 
startled by their expression. 

“ Miss Dolly,” he said hurriedly, and plunging into his 
subject, “ I came to-day to tell you, as you are deserving of 
all confidence, I am on the verge of dreadful ruin; I must 
break my engagement ; I must leave the office. No,” as 
she leaned forward with a peculiar look, “ no, it is not that 
I have done anything dishonorable^ I have simply been 
unfortunate. Money I invested has all been sunk ; more 
than that, my poor Aunt Jane’s money, nearly all her lit- 
tle capital, has gone with it.” 

He did not move his eyes, with their despairing, stony 
expression, from her face. 

“ cried Dolly, in a low, horrified tone, “this is 

terrible ! Tell me, how has it come about ? ” 

He wearily, briefly, but accurately detailed the affair. 
It had looked all right. Thereby he had hoped to redeem 
past losses. His trusting aunt had been perfectly willing to 
invest the money on his representation8,‘but the loss meant, 
in her old age and with her darling niece a mere baby, al- 
most complete poverty. 

“ And the only thing for me to do,” said Fred, in dreary 
conclusion, “ is to get away out of the country.” 


DOLLY WRITES AN IMPORTANT LETTER. 317 

“ No, no,” said Dolly earnestly, but slowly. She rose, 
moved about restlessly for a moment or two; intensely, pain- 
fully thoughtful. That something must be done she felt 
sure, but what it would be Dolly could not think. 

‘‘ Fred,” she said suddenly, “ let me consult the Gen- 
eral.” 

‘‘ No, no! ” cried Fred quickly. “ Any one else ! You 
know his horror of that man Baker. No, Miss Dorothy, 
anything but that.” He almost groaned aloud, while Dolly 
pressed her hands tightly together, thinking more of poor 
valiant Miss Jane, with the child she had so proudly, so 
fondly adopted than of any one else, were the truth but 
known. Still Fred’s misery was very real, his entanglements 
had been truly terrible. 

“ There is a way,” he said at last, a flush rising in spite of 
all his natural assurance, slowly spreading over his face from 
throat to brow. “ I dare not ask you, yet it can be done, 
and by you if you will.” 

He slowly but carefully explained how a loan could be 
obtained on the Homestead. And Dolly listened. At first 
the idea was simply intolerable, beyond consideration ; but 
as Fred went on pointing out that all the security need be 
the rent, which would be ample interest until the loan was 
paid ; as he proved, to his own satisfaction at least, that 
without her help he must abandon Florence, home, hope, 
everytliing ; and that it surely need, at longest, only be 
for a few months ; as she thought of the misery to Miss 
Jane, dear old Mr. Marston, Nona, all at the River House, 
gradually her one idea Ib^came a desire to save them from 
all Fred’s ruin would entail ; and, in a low, constrained sort 
of voice, she said gravely : 

Fred, give me a day or two to think of this. You can 
tell the man who will advance this money — Noblet is his 


318 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


name ? — I will see him at the River House with you any 
time you like to name on Saturday. That will be time 
enough if he has this much encouragement. Believe me, 
my heart aches for you, and especially for poor Miss Jane ; 
but I feel I must, I ought to think the matter over.” 

Fred’s heart gave a bound of satisfaction. There could 
be no question but that he felt, precisely as he had stated, in 
despair ; worse than the evening previous ; since his morn- 
ing’s mail had threatened him with what w^ould look like dis- 
grace, and he felt sure, if Dolly hesitated, the result would 
be concession. However, his relief, his expression of grati- 
tude, were all genuine. His eyes had a suspicious moisture 
about them which touched Dolly inexpressibly, and as he 
walked away from the house in the direction of the cottage 
he declared to himself, if ever a day came when he could 
prove his gratitude, his loyalty, to his good genius, he would 
die rather than neglect it ! As for Dolly, somewhat sadly 
and slowly, she retraced her steps to Emily’s room, where the 
sounds of happy, careless, unthinking laughter reached her 
before she was at the door. Somehow, for all her compas- 
sion, a slight feeling of disappointment in Fred made it 
hard work for her to feel happy. She did not doubt his in- 
tegrity, but his weakness was all too apparent, and had she 
been older in worldly wisdom she would have felt by no 
means sure that Floy Hildreth’s happiness or welfare, as his 
wife, was secure. But had Dolly been wiser, been less ac- 
customed to acting for herself and others, would she have 
involved herself so deeply, without counsel, in transactions 
serious in their nature, perhaps dangerous in their results ? 


CHAPTER XLI. 

. WHERE IS MRS. LEONARD? 

Dorothy opened her eyes Saturday morning with a 
consciousness, agreeable rather than otherwise, that all the 
Christmas guests, excepting the Andersons and Mrs. Kent, 
had departed; for there had been a little strain about the 
last two days, after the brilliantly successful tableaux 
party ; things had dragged slightly, and to have a few days 
up here alone with her special dear ones, before they all 
returned to town for the rest of the season, would be far 
more to her mind than entertaining a fashionable party, 
who required some stimulus of wit or novelty to keep 
them amused. She felt in a very satisfied frame of mind 
about several matters ; for instance, her conclusion that if 
possible Fred’s difficulties should be once more “ tided ” 
over by her means, produced the glow which all generous 
acts can kindle, and she had the faith of inexperience and a 
kind heart that all would, all must go well with him and 
with Mrs. Hildreth. Her appointment with Fred and his 
obliging friend, Mr. Noblet, was at eleven o’clock, and as 
she lay still, pondering over various matters, Jane entered 
with half a dozen letters from the early mail. Dolly 
was turning the envelopes over leisurely, when one in a 
rough coarse hand, with the Johnsburg post-mark, caught 
her eye, and her breath came a little quickly as she remem- 
bered that an answer was due from old Baker. She tore it 
open hastily and read and re-read the following communi- 
cation : 


319 


320 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


Miss Dorothy Kent : 

The papers you are anxious to buy are in Frederick Marston’s 
hands. Make your terms with him. 

Peter Baker. 

Dolly sat up, gazing at the note in a sort of stupefied 
way for a time. How came Fred to possess these docu- 
ments? How or what did he know of Mrs. Hildreth’s 
secret? Something, later Dolly never could say what, 
impelled her to spare Mrs. Hildreth, if possible, from in 
any way being in her future son-in-law’s power. She 
would get those papers, would never let the widow know 
that Fred had possessed them, would enjoin upon him 
silence, and then, as speedily and as safely as possible, clear 
up all that was doubtful, harassing, and mysterious in the 
whole affair. 

She dressed quickly, her thoughts flying, now with a 
touch of contempt for poor Fred, now compassion for Mrs. 
Hildreth ; again with gladness that Miss Jane’s little for- 
tune should be secured, and then to an idea which had 
grown since her decision to assist Frederick. Something 
told her Miss Jane ought to know enough of the transac- 
tion to keep a sharp eye on this man Noblet. She would 
be the best, the only person, for it would be to her interest 
not to betray poor Fred in the matter ; but how to place it 
in this light before Fred himself was the difficulty. 

Among her letters was one which gave her such satisfac- 
tion that she read it aloud at the breakfast-table. It was 
from Donald Fraser. 

“ Your friend’s David Brooks, has called upon me 
and brought a lot of stuff for me to see. Do you know 
there’s a deal of good in it ? I’ve suggested his going in 
for black and white work at once, as he shows decided taste 
for it. He has Savay, I assure you, and what poor old 


WHERE IS MRS, LEONARD? 


321 


Homan used so feelingly to call ‘ cheeky as the French say I 
For he seems very much in earnest about getting along, very 
anxious to be married as soon as possible, and is as certain as 
all young lovers are, that two can live much cheaper than one. 
I sent him with introductions to several of the boj^s, and he 
is to come here every day and work a Avbile under my 
inspiration. He wants to feel he can go ahead more than 
anything else. Like all beginners, he is dreadfully afraid 
of being bold, and too particular about what isn’t worth a 
row of pins. Now I am sure Johnsons will give him a 
start as soon as he can show them anything. I suggested 
something, and your fair friend Pauline is coming here to sit 
for him to-morrow. He was in raptures over some of my 
‘garmits’ as Anna Maria calls clothing which we wear 
unto us, and the idea of using them made him very joyful. 
He doesn’t show his lameness so much, but it interferes with 
his taking a great many positions offered him ; however, I 
assured him he ought to regard that as a stroke of luck, for 
it might force*him right into work he was fitted for. How 
are you all ? Pining, I trust. If so, I may run up with 
Thorndyke for a call before you leave. Tell Miss Honor 
not to dare to take cold as I must have that sketch of the 
lovable young lady from Astolat, England.” 

Now, isnH he a dear ! ” cried Dolly. “ I know just how 
good he has been to that poor, discouraged young man ! 
Well, let us hope Mr. Brooks will succeed.” 

“ Donald is too good an artist to encourage him, if he 
hasn’t talent,” said Sybil. “You owe your salvation in the 
way of feelings to him. I begged of him to say I had tal- 
ent, to let me work in his studio, and he solemnly assured 
me it would be a downright sin to do either. That’s why 
I never paint anything now but those sprawls of things for 
screens.” 

21 


322 


V 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


“Well,” said Aunt Jule, “ J think him delightful. I 
never supposed an artist would be so — so ” 

“Mother thought,” interposed Honor, who had until now 
been very serious, “ that all artists lived in garrets and had 
long hair and nothing to eat, and looked wild generally, 
didn’t you, mother ? ” 

“ Well, perhaps, more or less,” assented Aunt Jule. 
“ That is what they are like in books, you know.” 

Dolly was wonderfully cheered by Fraser’s letter, and as 
she made her way to the River House somewhat in advance 
of the hour agreed upon, wished all her friendly schemes 
could work out as well. She had long and earnestly de- 
sired to see Miss Dearborn less lonely in her surroundings, 
and she made up her mind to see if things could not be 
made so to work out that Pauline and the little music mis- 
tress could share a small apartment together, when the 
latter was married. A far less congenial trio could be im- 
agined, since all artists were music-lovers, ^and, generally 
speaking, vice versa. 

Fred was in his den, and seeing Dolly, rushed out of the 
side door to greet her, so that greatly to her relief they 
went into the house and the little room unobserved. He 
scanned her face eagerly before speaking, then with a quick 
flush, exclaimed : 

“ Have you come early — to say — it cannot be ? ” 

There was a misery in his tone which went to Dolly’s 
heart. 

“ No, no ; oh, no ! ” she said hurriedly, and with a genial 
smile, “ I think it can be if I can clearly understand it all, 
and besides ” 

She sketched briefly and clearly her idea in regard to 
Miss Jane’s knowing something of the whole matter, giv- 
ing her reasons. A certain decision in her tone made 


WHERE IS MRS. LEONARD? 


323 


Fred feel this would be made a “condition,” and feeling 
sure his aunt would only too gladly accept release from the 
prospect of poverty, and as well, that she regarded Dolly 
as an inexhaustible mine of both wealth and generosity, he 
at last agreed, and was starting for a preliminary talk with 
Miss Jane, when Dolly, with some hesitation of manner, 
stopped him. 

“ One thing more, Fred. Don’t think this influences me. 
Indeed, I had decided to help you through this affair when 
the letter came. I must tell you that, for a special pur- 
pose, I wanted some papers in old Baker’s possession, and 
wrote to him asking his price. You can read his answer, 
which I received this morning.” 

She handed him the letter, startled by the color which 
had flamed crimson into Fred’s cheeks, covering his face 
like a veil of confusion. Involuntarily she moved away 
while he read the curt note, and turned only when he spoke. 

“ You — knew of these — papers. Miss Dorothy,” he said, 
in a strange voice, shaken, yet somewhat indignant. He 
felt the arrow of revenge in Baker’s letter against him- 
self, perhaps even Dorothy as well, whom he had long con- 
sidered an enemy to his money-making plans on the Home- 
stead property. 

“Yes,” said Dorothy frankly. “I knew of their ex- 
istence, and that he had them.” 

“ How ? Do you know their contents ? ” 

“No ; they may prove useless. Still I want them. Do 
you know what they contain ? ” 

“Yes. Baker discussed it in part with me, before we 
quarrelled over a certain matter. He wanted my help and 
offered me a thousand dollars to carry out a plan he had. 
I repudiated the whole affair, but I kept these few papers, 
thinking them safer out of his hands.” 


324 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


He looked more manly and honest, Dolly thought, than 
she had ever seen him. 

“Tell me one thing, Fred,” she said quietly, “you know 
I am to be trusted. Have you ever mentioned this to Mrs. 
Hildreth?” 

Fred shook his head. 

“ No ; but for some reason I fancy she is keenly inter- 
ested in the matter. It has become of secondary impor- 
tance to me, unless. Miss Dorothjq by any chance,” he 
spoke slowly, “ it should affect you or your interests.” 

“ How can it ? ” Dolly laughed lightly. They all seemed 
bent on forcing her into this mysterious matter. 

“ Why, then, I see you donH know what I mean. I — I 
cannot explain myself. In a way I have pledged myself 
not to do so, just at present, to a woman deeply interested in 
it all, poor soul, and not for any gain to herself except keep- 
ing her child.” 

“ Ah,” cried Dolly, a light dawning upon her. “ Is it, 
can it be, Mrs. Leonard ? ” 

“ Mrs. Leonard ! ” exclaimed Fred, in utter amazement. 
“ How is it you know so much and yet so little ? ” 

“ I know,” declared Dolly, with excitement, “ that I 
would give much — oh, very much to find her, to see her, and 
Addy.” 

Frederick was speechless with surprise. He flung him- 
self into the shabby leathern chair where he had passed so 
many wretched hours of debate and calculation, of hope 
and despair, and gazed up at Dolly with increasing wonder, 
mystified, amused, perplexed, bafiied. What did it mean ? 
So far as he knew Mrs. Leonard’s story it was a simple one ; 
the secret baffling him. Baker’s hold over her, had cer- 
tainly not been revealed by the papers in his table drawer. 
One thing only had suggested Dolly’s interests being in- 


WHERE IS MRS. LEONARD? 


325 


volved, and that be felt sure now she did not know. Why 
then was she so anxious for these papers to be in her keep- 
ing ? 

“ Tell me, Fred, I beg of you,” demanded Doroth^^, 

where is she, this Mrs. Leonard, to be found?” 

‘‘Oh, that is simple enough,” rejoined Fred, delighted to 
be of service to the girl. “ She is at a small village near 
Beckport, Mallowfield. You can’t miss her I fancy ; any 
way the post-office people could tell you.” 

“Mallowfield. I will not forget it,” said Dolly, her 
cheeks crimson with excitement. “But now about the 
papers. May I come to terms with you for them ? ” 

“ Miss Dorothy,” said the young man, after a brief pause, 
during which he moved restlessly about the little room, his 
hands thrust deep in his pockets and his head bent down, 
“I will tell you just what I will and what I can do. You 
know, to begin with, that I would do anything to serve you. 
Well, yet I feel I have been too fairly treated by this Mrs. 
Leonard, not to deal fairly by her. You see I’m not quite 
so black as no doubt you’ve painted me,” said the young 
fellow, with a queer laugh. “ I want to do it all on the 
square. Let me go to this Mrs. Leonard to-morrow, this 
afternoon, if you like; I will ask her permission to show 
you the papers and urge it upon her. If she refuses, then 
we can see what can be done.” 

Dolly smiled proudly. 

“ I’m glad you see it like that,” she said. “ Yes, yes, of 
course ; and oh, Fred, urge upon her that I see her, will jmu 
not ? Promise me this.” 

He looked at her with a queer, compassionate sort of 
smile. 

“ Come, Miss Dorothy ! ” he declared. “ Take my advice. 
Drop the whole business ! You may be sorry later.” 


326 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


“ No, no,” said the girl, excited and eager. “ It is a 
point of honor.'*'* 

She remembered now the moral side. Mrs. Hildreth’s 
pleading for liplp to free her from the long, miserable bond- 
age of deceit. She would not now turn aside. 

“As you like, then,” he answered. “But if any unhap- 
piness comes of it, don’t forget I warned you.” 

She shook her head and smiled faintly. 

“ No, I will not, and I thank you. Oh, how eager I am 
for you to go to Mallowfield ! ” 

While Fred was absent with Miss Jane, Dolly felt in a 
state of high-strung, nervous sort of energy. To think, so 
soon, and by such unexpected means, the clue which Mrs. 
Hildreth was so eagerly searching had been found. The 
girl was thrilled by a sense of victory, or something near 
it, and kept recalling and repeating to herself the widow’s 
words when she spoke of the sin of deceit. “ It shall fall 
from her,” thought Dolly radiantly, “ and the very angels 
in Heaven can rejoice.” No greater incentive could she 
have had in pushing this matter happily to the end, and for 
the time Dorothy quite forgot those mysterious allusions to 
herself, her interests ; if they floated back, it was with no 
effect. The matters in hand were too engrossing. 

Fred’s interview with Miss Jane, painful as it was, ended 
in a tearful conference of that bewildered lady with Dolly, 
whom she thanked incoherently, but fervently ; begging of 
\\QY never to betray poor Frederick. “ Just as the trumpets 
of his fame were sounding,” sobbed poor Miss Jane, true to 
herself in grandiloquence, and Dolly and Frederick him- 
self had difticulty in repressing a smile. “ On the eve of an 
. alliance, and oh, my Anna Maria, I meant her to taste of 
the flesh-pots of culture and science, to be educated in the 
liberal arts.” Miss Jane evidently considered they de- 


WHERE IS MRS. LEONARD? 


327 


manded a peculiarly liberal expenditure. “ Moses on his 
mountain might have guided such a mind as that child has. 
So you see, Dolly dear, I cannot refuse your offer.” 

In s[)ite of her incoherences and rather wildly struck 
comparisons. Miss Jane came down to a practical view of 
things when Mr. Noblet appeared, a thin, wiry, good-na- 
tured-looking little man, who was talkative enough, but 
assured them all he could keep a family secret. 

“ When parties come, what I call nosing around,” said 

the little man genially, “ I am — so ” And he brought a 

pair of thin lips together with the thinnest, widest, and 
most seductive of smiles, and, with his eyes wide-open, 
wagged his head solemnly from side to side. 

“ I’m sure that ought to silence the most audacious per- 
son,” said Dorothy, laughing heartily, and Mr. Noblet 
seemed very well satisfied to have so far interested this 
charming young heiress, who was evidently ready to give 
a “ helping hand ” very freely, he considered ; and he de- 
parted determined, if possible, not to “ put the screws,” as 
he called it, on a moment unnecessarily. 

Dolly went home feeling as if the very atmosphere 
about her was charged with something keenly important. 
True, she had signed away all her right and title to draw 
the rent of the Homestead until Fred’s debt of some thou- 
sands was made good, and for aught she knew, this might 
mean half a life-time, since never did the girl count on the 
General’s fortune being her own. But the other matter, 
the discovery of this mysterious, fascinating Mrs. Leonard, 
with “ Addy,” was like something in a book, a strange bit 
of romance, suddenly flung into her life, and that Mrs. 
Hildreth’s peace of mind, of soul^ should be secured, seemed 
to give the romance its touch of dignity, its right “ to 


CHAPTER XLII. 

THE “disowned” EXPRESSES HER OPINION. 

Fred departed on his mission to Mallowfield in a very- 
contented frame of mind, for were not all things working 
to the end of his best ambitions, and he was quite sincere 
in saying he most earnestly desired to prove himself of ser- 
vice to Dorothy. It had been agreed upon between them 
that he was to come directly to The Glen on his return, that 
Dolly might know at once the result of his interview with 
Mrs. Leonard, she being anxious to relieve Mrs. Hildreth’s 
mind, in some fashion, as soon as possible. 

The afternoon had been an unusually pleasant one for 
the girls. Grouped around Aunt J ule in Dolly’s pretty sit- 
ting-room upstairs, they talked over all manner of congenial 
topics, plied Aunt Jule with questions about her young 
days, enjoying keenly that lady’s accounts of some of her 
rather mad-cap doings; and comparisons between their 
“ good times ” and hers ended, as such generally do, by a 
decision that old days were decidedly the best. 

“ Why, when I was a girl,” declared Aunt Jule, glancing 
about the pretty room, with its mingled radiance of the 
winter sun, and the beams of the fire, its dainty, luxurious, 
rich, pale chintzes, and lace hangings ; the piano, with roses 
heaped in a bowl on the shining dark surface of the top; 
the great standing work-basket, of wdcker, lined and fringed 
in pink ; the book-shelves, ebony stands, wdde sofa, and deep 
window-seats; “ such a room as this wouldn’t have been 
dreamed of as a possibility ! I remember a girl in Johns- 


THE DISOWNED EXPRESSES HER OPINION. 329 


burg, named Kate Appleby, who was regarded as quite an 
ideal princess; she was an only child, and her father an im- 
mensely rich widower. Well, we all thought it was what 
you girls call grand, when Kate had some furniture from 
Paris sent to furnish a kind of special parlor for her — 
French designs were all the rage then. We girls looked 
with wonder and delight on the brocaded damask ‘ set ’ of 
sofas and chairs, and tables with their white legs. Bric-a- 
brac wasn’t thought of ; but after all,” concluded Aunt 
Jane, “some of the furniture, the old-fashioned mahogany 
and oak we despised, after seeing Kate’s elegancies, would 
be priceless now. I wonder if it’s a matter of taste or 
fashion.” 

“ Both, isn’t it ? ” said Emily. “ First fashion took re- 
straint away; then we had a chance to exercise our taste. I 
suppose, twenty-five years ago, there was a rule for fur- 
nishing.” 

“Yes,” said Aunt Jule ; “ so many sofas, so many chairs, 
all upholstered alike, two centre tables and an ornament 
flanked with books, a set of mantel ornaments, a few pic- 
tures, there was your drawing-room. Though I don’t like to 
fall over something every step I take, as you do in some 
people’s houses, I admit that, as Emily says, doing away 
with conventional rule is a good thing.” 

“It used to be the Eugenian era in your girlhood, wasn’t 
it ? ” queried Dolly. “ I know there was a photo of dear 
mother, dressed d Vimperatrice for her first party.” 

“ Oh, my, yes ! I never shall forget the first time I suc- 
ceeded in rolling my hair back in those peculiar long puffs 
like Eugenie’s ; then violet, the Bonapartists’ color you know, 
was all the rage. I had a violet crepe and so did your 
mother for that party ; what a time there was getting 
them made. All tiny flowers up to the waist, each one 


330 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


edged with the nan-owest satin ribbon. Oli how the crepe 
Avould pull ! every which way ! we sat up all night to get 
them done. I got two of mine crooked and I just xoouldn'‘t 
sew them over the twentieth time, so, to your mother’s hor- 
ror I clapped a big rosette of ribbon on over the place. It 
did look ridiculous ; so as we were sailing downstairs at 
Mrs. Barlow’s that night to the parlor, it occurred to me to 
make it look all right, and when the first girl I spoke to 
admired my dress, I said serenely, ‘ How do you like the 
Eugenie rosette on the side ? I hope I got it quite right ! ’ 
She declared it was lovely, and actually, at the next party, 
half a dozen girls were wearing these ‘ Eugenie knots ’ as 
thej^ were called.” 

The girls laughed, and Honor gravely observed she never 
could hope to be dignified with such a maternal background, 
but Aunt Jule, with one of her quizzical glances at the 
lovely face of her daughter, said dryly : 

“ I never could understand where you came by your 
cool-as-a-cucumber nature. Miss Honor ! I declare well.” 

.She broke off and touched Sybil’s curly locks as that 
young person rested her head comfortably against Aunt 
Jule’s knee. 

“ Now if Syhil were my flesh and blood, I’d understand it.” 

Sybil heaved a great sigh. “ I’m the Sybil disowned^'* 
she declared, “the disowned of Fowlers and Andersons. I 
believe, away back, there’s Indian blood on mother’s side, 
but I’m not particularly savage, but something's the 
matter.” 

“And the worst of it is,” laughed Dolly from amid the 
sofa cushions, where feeling lazy and tired she had flung 
herself down, “she is actually beguiling that poor young 
Rainey into thinking she adores the poor and parish 
work.” 


TEE ‘'DISOWNED” EXPRESSES HER OPINION 331 

Sybil sat upright and glared. ‘‘ How can you ? when I 
expressly told him last night nothing would tempt me to be 
a clergyman’s wife.” 

There was a general roar, in the midst of which poor 
Sybil, crimson to the very tips of her pretty ears, tried to 
fling small objects at Dolly, who simply buried her face in 
the sofa pillows, shaking with laughter. 

“ Oh, Syb ! ” exclaimed Emily, “ I declare I’ll take you 
home out of danger by the next train.” She had to wipe her 
eyes from actual tearful laughter, while Sybil, sitting on the 
floor, still enraged, turned on her. 

“ Couldn’t I express an opinion,” she demanded, “ simply 
because he happened to be a clergyman ?” 

Oh, of course,” said Dolly, coming out of her retreat and 
stifling her mirth. “ Only the conversation must have been 
so touching ! Do give us the rest, Syb dear, if you can 
without pain.” 

“ What’s the matter with you all ? ” demanded Sybil, look- 
ing as dignified as any one sitting in the middle of the floor 
could. “Did you never hear of my saying anything sensi- 
ble before ? It was a very natural remark to make after 
what he said.” 

Another wild chorus of laughter went up, received by 
Sybil with an increase of scorn. 

“ ^^ow listen^ if any of you can ” 

“ Listen to her tale of woef sang Dorothy softly, “ oA, 
picture sad to see ! our dear little Sybil and poor Rainey.” 

“ Listen to their tale of woe ! ” chorused the other girls. 

“You’re all remarkably smart,” observed Sj^bil with supe- 
rior calm. “ You’ll feel so when you hear me out. Mr. Rai- 
ney remarked that I seemed cut out for bringing people around 
to my way of thinking,” there certainly was a most unusual 
deliberation in Sybil’s manner, “ and I said it was a pit}', be- 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


33 3 

cause I never had any particularly brilliant ideas, and it was 
too bad to beguile other people ; then he observed that I 
seemed one of the kind who would do well in a parish, — now 
hush, girls, if you want to hear the rest,” interposed the nar- 
rator, glaring fiercely as such a pair of grayish-blue eyes 
could, “ and I asked him whether he meant as a living ex- 
ample of what frivolity and uselessness would bring a per- 
son to.” 

“ Sybil,” protested Dorothy, “ I’ve heard of bare-faced 
flirting before, but really, this — and with a clergyman.^'* 

Dolly received the last of the drooping mignonette in 
Sybil’s belt against her cheek, for this, and the “ disowned 
continued : 

“He said no, I’d do well as a clergyman’s wife. 'Now I 
leave it to you, was there anything,^'* with a scornful infla- 
tion of her pretty saucy nostrils, “ anything so very re- 
markable in my answering, I wouldn’t be a clergyman’s 
wife for worlds f ” 

“Well, he’ll never ask you again,” sighed Dolly. 

“ Ask me ! ” scorned Sybil, scrambling to her feet. “ Ask 
his grandmother ! Of all things I despise it’s a girl always 
fancying every man means something when he’s a little bit 
good-natured to her. I’m going after that everlasting 
‘ fascinator ’ I’m trying to make,” and she sailed out of 
the room with dignity. 

“Poor Mr. Rainey,” said Honor. “It’s too transparent ! 
and Sybil of all people ! well, wonders will never cease.” 

Slie too started for a bit of fancy-work, and in the hall 
met Jane announcing “ Mr. Fred’s ” presence below. 

Dolly flew downstairs with a quickly beating heart' and 
an eager “ Well?” on her lips, before the greetings w^ere 
exchanged. 

“ I don’t know what you will think. Miss Dorothy,” he 


THE DISOWNED” EXPRESSES HER OPINION. 333 


said anxiously. ‘‘ I found Mrs. Leonard, of course, and told 
her all ; urged her to see you, etc. I did my very best, and 
all tliat I could accomplish was this. She will do nothing, 
she agrees, to interfere in any way in the matter, to hinder 
any of your plans, if you will let the matter rest until tlie 
1st of April, when I will have returned from Mexico. She 
certainly., I could see, would vanish again with Addy, 
unless this was agreed upon, and I got her to write you 
this line.” 

He haiided her a note which ran as follows : 

“Miss : If you will wait until April 1st, I will see you 
and help you. If not, I must go away with my daughter 
again. Martha Leonard.” 

“ It seems strange,” murmured Dolly ; “ but I suppose 
nothing else or better can be done. And the papers ? ” 

“ Here they are, in a sealed packet, for I had to promise 
her that they would not be touched until the date.” 

“I hate mysteries ! ” exclaimed Dolly, as she received the 
parcel and turned it around and around somewhat con- 
temptuously. “However, Fred, I am sure you have done 
your best, and I’m ever so much obliged. Well ! so be it, 
we must only wait.” 


CHAPTER XLIII. 


WEDDING BELLS AND A GOOD-BY. 

“ There, mother, don’t fuss any more. I am sure it is 
all right ; simplicity is far more elegant.” 

Floy Hildreth gazed in the mirror at her lovely face and 
figure, her wedding gown of rich, dead white silk, the veil of 
tulle, fastened with a half-wreath of orange blossoms and 
glktering diamond pins ; satisfaction lending a glow to 
her cheeks and a new brilliancy to her wonderful dark 
eyes. 

Quiet as the wedding was to be, only the families and a 
few intimate friends invited, Floy had quite agreed with 
Dorothy that a fine wedding dress would be worth while, 
and useful later. ‘’One must have an evening dress of 
some kind, I suppose,” Floy had remarked, with one of her 
plaintive looks ; and Dolly, eager to please the bride-elect, 
had coaxed the diamond veil-pins out of the General as his 
especial gift. To induce him to give the bride away had 
been so difficult a task that Dolly was greatly relieved 
when a hitherto unmentioned uncle, Mrs. Hildreth’s 
brother, suddenly appeared, and, as a matter of course, 
the duty devolved upon him. Indeed, the General, very 
amiable since this Mr. Barr came on the scene, contrived 
to slip out of all appearance of being a relation, and Dolly 
at the last moment discovered he was very sure, if he went 
up to Beckford for the ceremonj^, the twinge of gout he 
felt would certainly develop into a regular “ attack.” So 
it came about that with the Andersons Dorothy journeyed 

334 


WEDDING BELLS AND A GOOD-BY. 


335 


up to Beckford the day before the wedding, leaving the 
General in great good-humor over the success of his 
stratagem, and bearing as a consolation a good-sized check 
for the bride’s “ bon voyage.” 

Only Jane accompanied the girls, and they rather enjoyed 
the idea of a sort of picnic at The Glen, where Mrs. Moper 
and Sarah, with the two gardeners, were in charge, and 
had only necessary rooms prepared for a two days’ occu- 
panc3^ There would be no special wedding breakfast. 
Floy had gently opposed this, arguing the “ expense ” for 
dear “ mamma” ; but, in fact, she had no idea of a crowded 
affair in their small dining-room, so that a light collation 
was prepared, the immediate relations only being expected 
to return from the church to the cottage. Still, nothing 
could deprive the occasion of that touch of romance and 
fascination which belongs to all weddings — that going 
forth into a new world, a new life, all doubtful perhaps, 
yet for the moment seeming to be glorified b}^ the love, 
honor, and obey,” the “ until death do us part,” spoken at 
the altar. Dolly felt rather solemn about it, when in the 
evening before, she and Emily carefully read and dis- 
cussed the wedding service, and they wondered how Floy 
and Fred felt about those clearly written, solemn vows. 
‘‘ See how much it seems to mean,” Dorothy had said, half- 
absently, as she repeated the words, “‘In sickness or in 
health : for richer or for poorer.’ Ah, me, Emmie ! how 
many are there, do you suppose, who say it all, meaning 
it ? I canH understand how people can make simply a 
show and a parade of the affair.” 

Floy was pronounced by every one so “ sensible ” in the 
way she behaved. Nothing could, it is true, have exceeded 
her composure, and as she turned from the last survey of 
herself in the mirror, she smiled almost reproachfully. 


336 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


catching sight of tears trembling in Mrs. Hildreth’s 
eyes ; eyes which even Honor could not at that moment 
have called “stony.” Poor Mrs. Hildreth’s nerves had 
been painfully unstrung of late; but while she could not help 
a sort of relief in the thought of being alone, or at least 
away from Floy’s critical watch of her, these anxious 
weeks of waiting, yet it was with a pang she thought of 
losing her girl, giving her up so completely as she knew 
she must. Floy had never assumed anything like demon- 
strative affection, nor indeed had she pretended to much of 
any kind. Her mother had been her slave, some one to be 
depended on, looked to for anythingwhich she wanted done, 
and now Fred would fill the place, and Mrs. Hildreth be no 
longer needed. Sentimentality at no time was in Floy’s 
line, and red eyes were seldom becoming. Therefore, it 
vexed her to see her mother’s tearful, wistful gaze, and 
only her supreme satisfaction in the way things were 
going prevented an outburst of one of her fits of temper. 
As it was, she looked rather cloudy. 

“ If you are going to cry and make a scene, mamma,” 
she said, drawing on her long gloves with care as to the 
exact position of the seams, “ we may as well go down- 
stairs, and perhaps you’ll get self-control before people. 
There, I hear carriages. Now, mother, do behave ! ” 

Mrs. Hildreth felt as if her heart stood still, like a piece of 
lead, in her bosom. This then was their farewell ; this the 
only word her child had to say to her in that hour of part- 
ing, of sundering those sweet, holy, beautiful ties which 
should exist between true mothers and daughters as be- 
tween no other kindred on God’s earth. Oli, how different 
it would have been, thought the lonely woman, had such as 
Dolly been her child ; Dolly, who had all these weeks been 
so sweet, so gentle, so sympathetic ; understanding by a 


WEDDING BELLS AND A QOOD-BT. 


337 


look when her “ secret ” was too heavy for her heart to 
bear ; beguiling her so often into talk on subjects which 
soothed her heart ; led her, all unconsciously, with stum- 
bling and weary feet, nearer to where rest and peace and 
forgiveness might be found. Dolly had not said much ; 
but when up at Beckford or in New York during the days 
of shopping and making ready, every word, every look had 
carried the force of her true, high-minded, pure young 
soul with it, and the balm was working on a spirit too 
long defiant, cold, bitter in the midst of remorse. 

“ Are you coming, mamma ? ” said the bride sharply, “ or 
do you intend me to go downstairs alone ? ” 

“ No, no, my darling,” said the mother quickly, and she 
preceded Florence downstairs, where the uncle, Mr. Barr, a 
tall, thin old gentleman, with a very puckered-up serious 
face, was waiting. 

There were to be no bridesmaids ; only Dolly was to 
“ stand by ” Floy, and hold her glove and generally preside 
over her ; so Mrs. Hildreth and her daughter and old Mr. 
Barr drove alone to the church. Floy was proud of dis- 
playing a near relation like her uncle, but she was furious 
with him because he had given her a hair bracelet for a 
wedding gift, with a shaky little thin gold clasp, which he 
told her contained her grandfather’s hair. “ You’d better 
keep it, mamma,” she had said disdainfully ; “I’m sure 1 
wouldn’t be seen with it.” 

As for Mr. Barr, he had only drifted in unexpectedly on 
this scene, not having seen his sister for years, knowing 
nothing of Floy, and being about the next day to return to 
his Western home. It was a great bore to him to have to 
go to the wedding in any capacity, and he would not even 
have given the hair bracelet to his niece, but that he came 
upon it accidentally in an old box stored away in New 
22 


338 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


York, and considered it might as well serve two purposes. 
The little party were singularly quiet on their way to 
churcli ; but once there a new face was put upon matters, 
for the girls had seen to it that the church was blooming 
with flowers and greeneries ; the organist was ready to 
crash forth as the bridal party entered, and the church was 
nearly full of an eager, animated company, one and all anx- 
ious to see such a lovely bride a'S they knew Miss Hildreth 
was sure to make. 

Frederick, waiting at the chancel steps, looked wonderfully 
well, even with such a “ best man ” as Alfred Thorndyke 
at his side, but he was pale to the lips, and his eyes, resting 
on the beautiful girl coming up the aisle on her uncle’s 
arm, had a tenderness in them which Dorothy observed 
with her swift sympathy, never liking the young fellow 
half so much as at that moment. His hand trembled as he 
put the ring upon Floy’s perfectly tranquil one ; his eyes 
sought hers with a promise in them which utterly passed her 
by. Dolly could not keep the tears all back. Nona was 
very grave and white ; Winnie absolutely weeping, and 
even Sybil rather tremulous, while the new Mrs. Marston, 
as she turned to go down the aisle on her husband’s arm, 
while the organ pealed forth the wedding march, looked 
radiant, lovely, flushed, but only with self-gratulation. If 
she observed the little flutter of sentiment and feeling, it 
was only with a sense of its absurdity. How and why 
should thej/ care when she did not ? It was really too ri- 
diculous. But an hour later, when Dolly was alone with her 
upstairs for a moment, helping her to change her bridal 
finery for the pretty gray wool travelling costume, a sudden 
and unexpected wave of feeling swept across her. 

“ Dorothy,” she said, looking quietly into the girl’s frank, 
cloudless face, “ I’m not very sentimental, you know, and 


WEDDING BELLS AND A OOOD-BT. 


339 


it wouldn’t be very eomplimentary to Fred to say I was 
sorry and all that sort of thing ; but I do think you’ve 
been very kind, and I’m glad to feel you’ll look after 
mamma sometimes when I am not here.” 

Just for an instant, when the good-bys were spoken, 
when the mother’s arms were around her, straining her to 
her heart in a passionate, silent farewell, Floy felt wliat she 
was losing — but it was over soon ; she was seated by her 
Imsband in the best brougham from Mr. Jones’s stables, and 
being driven rapidly away — a shower of rice and slippers 
following them ; while the company at the cottage turned 
back to the pretty drawing-room with that queer feeling 
which comes after a wedding — half funereal, half congrat- 
ulatory. It is “ all over ” ; all “ begun ” ; but there are 
mingled emotions, and every one tried to talk naturally, all 
at once, and failed. 

“Well, it didn’t seem like a wedding,” grumbled Wini- 
fred, as the River House party were on their homeward 
way. “ She wasn’t even pale ! It was Fred who looked 
like a bride.” 

Every one laughed at this, and it roused their spirits, 
fortunately. Miss Jane, even, having seemed peculiarly 
downcast. Dolly whispered to Emily Anderson that she 
would stay a little while with Mrs. Hildreth, and accord- 
ingly The Glen party went away without her, under Alfred’s 
escort, he promising to come down before dark for her if 
she had not then returned. 

Yes, it was over. Dolly, as she went back to the draw- 
ing-room where Mrs. Hildreth was sitting rather forlornly 
in her special chair before the fire, wondered whether she 
were glad or sorry. Well, the future held the secret of 
these lives, as it did her own. Of late Dolly had come to 
taking things very much from one “ setting of the sun until 


340 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


anotlier.” She had tried to put whatever was purely per- 
sonal quite out of sight, and often flattered herself she was 
succeeding. When, as sometimes happened, a trifle would 
startle her, as it revealed the real feeling hidden deep down 
behind those closed doors of her heart, she would be dis- 
mayed, reproachful, guilty, and rouse herself to some neAV 
action involving the interests and well-being of others, or 
take an extra half-hour for her special, helpful night and 
morning reading. 

Honor was in Johnsburg, to come down again for Dr. 
Anderson’s opinion, and, perhaps, treatment later, and Dolly 
took not only pleasure but special comfort in writing her 
constantly; and Alfred Thorndyke’s doings, so far as she 
knew them, were carefully, duly set forth. To-night’s let- 
ter would tell her cousin something special, for on the mor- 
row he started for Washington, already an important and 
talked of member of the famous Morris Committee. 

“ What are you going to do, Emmie ? ” Sybil demanded, 
as with their cousin they returned to The Glen. “ You know 
I promised old Mrs. Rainey to go and see her.” 

Thorndyke smiled in his funny, shrewd way. 

“ And discuss her beloved Harry, I suppose, Sybil. How 
you do impose on that poor woman.” 

‘‘ Well, she likes it,” said Sybil airily. 

“ I have a letter or two to write, if Alfred doesn’t mind,” 
said Emily. “ Then I believe I’ll go over to see Kona.” 

“ I don’t mind one bit,” rejoined Alfred. “ I’ll take a 
walk, give Dolly an hour, and if she isn’t home then, I’ll go 
down for her. I declare the Hildreths ought to be satisfied 
somewhat now! She’s simply slaved for them.” 

Meanwhile, Dolly and Mrs. Hildreth were alone together 
in the richly furnished drawing-room, which had so long 
been Florence’s pride, and certainly dominated by her pres- 


WEDDING BELLS AND A GOOD-BT. 


341 


ence in a way which, whether regretfully or not, made her 
absence felt. Mrs. Hildreth, as she leaned back in her chair, 
gazing into the coal fire silently, while Dorothy sat at one 
side in sympathetic silence, asked herself just what it was 
she felt? Could the sense of loss in Floy’s marriage ac- 
count for the strange, dull, sad feeling, tinged with remorse, 
which was making her heart ache now almost to bitterness ? 
The mother could not so deceive herself. The beautiful, 
picturesque, brilliant creature, who had so long filled her 
life with ambition, hopes, fears, a tumult of anxiety and 
misery at times, was her child, her own, and loved as few 
children ever were ; yet the feeling uppermost in the moth- 
er’s mind in this first hour of that severance which mar- 
riage makes from the special ties which hold mother and 
child together, was of keen, sharp-edged, humiliating dis- ' 
appointment. For the forces of late working in a nature 
which once had been kindly, and endowed, as all are, with the 
promise of spirituality, showed her the errors in her girl’s 
training — the weakness which had made her Floy’s slave, 
not her ‘‘ guide, philosopher, and friend.” Floy had gone 
forth on her life’s battle, armed with — what ? Caprice, 
self-indulgence, a faculty for subterfuge, extravagance, and 
boundless variety, to say nothing of the temper never disci- 
plined, never subdued. Could even her dazzling beauty 
hide these shadows, which assuredly would darken her life 
as well as that of the loving young husband, who believed 
in her now so completely ? 

‘‘ Dolly,” said Mrs. Hildreth, with a sigh, and looking at 
the girl near her almost tenderly, “ I’ve often wondered 
how it would be when Floy left me ; now, it confuses me ; 
I don’t know how to take it ! ” 

‘‘It seems strange, at first, I suppose,” said Dolly. 
“ Didn’t it seem queer to you to leave your mother ? ” 


342 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


“Ah !” exclaimed the widow, a quick dark flush rising 
to her cheeks ; “that was different. Dorothy, if ever you 
come to judge me very harshly, child, think of one or two 
things I may tell j’^ou — I will tell you even now.” She 
leaned back wearily in the deep easy chair, the look of 
physical pain Dolly had so often observed of late crossing 
her face and leaving it a trifle paler than before. “ I was 
brought up in a strange way. My father was a man of un- 
governable temper, very arbitrary and capricious, but full 
of ability in his profession of the law. We children, my 
brother Will and I — George, whom you saw to-day, was 
only a half-brother — lived in constant awe of him. We 
never knew what to expect — what to say — and my mother 
was not only a confirmed invalid, but one of those timid, 
shrinking natures which feared to assert any rights of its 
own, whether for us or herself. Dorothy, mind, I do not 
mean to condone anything, but looking back I do see an ex- 
cuse in my miserable childhood for the systematic deceits 
practised in the household, tacitly permitted by my mother, 
and freely indulged in by Will and myself as well as the 
servants. To escape violence from my father we would 
take refuge as readily in a lie as in the truth. We dreaded, 
feared, hard as it sounds to say, we despised him ; for we 
knew he did not do his duty in his home, and we accord- 
ingly had no respect for his feelings or opinions. It was a 
terrible apprenticeship, especially for a nature which, like 
mine, was passionate, ardent ; would have been, Dorothy, 
warmly affectionate. It hardened me and made me only 
long to be away from home, to escape the mean, exacting 
sort of tyranny which was all I knew of a father’s care. 
Will was even more sensitive than I, high strung and full 
of talent, but at twenty he left home; an opportunity offer- 
ing for employment with an American firm in Leghorn, he 


WEDDING DELLS AND A GOOD-BY. 


343 


started awa}^, not returning until after my father’s death, 
five years later. He had married an Italian girl, who died 
within two years, leaving him the most exquisitely beauti- 
ful little boy I have ever seen. Dorothy, you have seen An- 
drea’s picture at twenty; judge, then, how captivating he was 
as a child. I was alone in my father’s house. Mother had 
died of a broken heart, I believe, and Will gladly left his 
child with me. Two years passed. I was not twenty 
years of age when I met Mr. Hildreth, the General’s brother- 
in-law, and married him.” 

Mrs. Hildreth paused, clasping her thin jewelled fingers 
together, a look of deep mournfulness crossing her worn 
face. 

Dolly could not speak. She felt that if it was a relief to 
this struggling soul to open the chambers of memory, to 
review the past, at best the retrospect must be a bitter one ; 
but she tried to prove her sympathy by silent attention and 
a mute touch of her hand on those wearily clasped ones of 
the widow’s. 

“ I married,” said Mrs. Hildreth, in a moment, “ and 
placed Andrea at school. Soon after my husband and 
I became part of the General’s household, and there my 
oldest child, a boy, was born. From the first the Berings 
took to the baby, and I began to build high hopes on what 
it would mean ; but the same year they adopted your Aunt 
Dorothy, your father’s sister. Dolly, I did not mean to 
dwell on all this ; I was only thinking of my married life. 
It was never happy ; and why? ” She turned suddenly, a 
gleam of passionate feeling in her eyes. “ Why ? Because 
my husband was not only a reckless spendthrift, but he 
never wholly trusted me. He declared I deceived him 
in small matters, — which was often true, — and so refused to 
believe my word in greater ones. Still my ambitions never 


344 


FOR UONOR'S SAKE. 


slumbered. My boy died ; for years I was childless ; your 
Aunt Dorothy grew up a beautiful, caressed, indulged, 
loved child of the house, where I, Dolly, longed to see 
this child of mine as its darling. Floy was not born, how- 
ever, until poor Dorothy Kent had been a year in her 
grave. Then I hoped, believed, would have prayed, if 
I knew how, that the General would take her to his heart — 
take her as his very own. But fate — everything — seemed 
against me. M}'' husband died ; although I was constantly 
a guest of the General’s, the old footing never was resumed. 
There were other reasons ; ” she rested her head upon her 
hand in silence for an instant, — “ all of that I will tell you 
later. Dolly ! do you know when I feel the worst I often 
look at others and ask myself, have you never sinned ; have 
you never deceived any one ; never lied, or detracted ; 
never concealed what you feared to tell ? Oh, I cannot 
believe God will judge all harshly.” 

‘‘ Harshly ? ” cried Dorothy, with a light in her eyes. 
“ Oh, Mrs. Hildreth, don’t say — don’t tlmik so.” She 
knelt down by the widow’s chair, and took her listless 
hands in hers. “ Don’t you know he cannot ? He is so 
divinely just ; and think, it is precisely what he came for 
— to help our weakness, to wipe away our sin. Oh, if I 
could only make you feel for a moment as I do ! ” said 
Dolly, with passionate tenderness. “ If you could just feel 
yourself near him, at his feet, saying, ‘ Father, I am your 
child, come home to you to be helped, borne with, com- 
forted!'* Think even of Magdalen, because she loved 
much, her sins were forgiven her. Do you know,” the girl 
went on hurriedly, her voice caressing in its sweetness, so 
dear was the subject to her very heart of hearts, “I have 
so often been struck in reading the Testament with the 
eagerness our Lord showed that human beings should 


WEDDING BELLS AND A GOOD-BT. 


345 


come to him not in fear hwXlovef Only St. John and Mag- 
dalen seemed to have known the craving of that divine heart 
— the unutterable lonelmess\tv[iw%% have felt, seeing all the 
world lavish love and riches, art, talent, genius — everything 
on each other, on the perishable things of earth ; yet how 
rarely giving one full throb of love, of friendship to the 
Shepherd who had come this weary journey to seek and 
comfort them. Oh, Mrs. Hildreth,” Dolly cried eagerly, 
“ only try to feel He wants your need of him. He wants 
you to say you need his help, and the rest will, must, come.” 

The widow’s eyes were fixed eagerly on the fair, pure 
young face at her side. Where, hut at the divine feet, had 
this girl, all young in years and knowledge of the world, 
found her wisdom, her strength, her fine, high purposes ? 
Whence had she derived that unconscious, magnetic force 
which had induced her, a woman fast entering the valley of 
the shadow, to place her very conscience in her hands, to 
unburden her soul of its dismal weight, to ask counsel — ask 
moral as well as worldly help ? 

“ Dorothy,” she said slowly, deliberately, but with a tone 
of something like pain w’^rung from her very heart, “ you 
give me courage, dearest, and God knows I need it. Per- 
haps you do not know,” she leaned her head back wearily, 
“ I have not long to live. Floy does not know it ; only 
lately have the doctors^been sure my disease was cancer — 
hopeless, incurable.” 

Dorothy started, her breath coming quickly for an in- 
stant ; but she forced herself to composure as she answered 
in a low, awestruck tone : 

And do — do you suffer much ? ” 

“ At times, but not so much as I know I will before the 
end. It was with the first knowledge of this, Dolly, that I 
determined to— to try and repair the wrong done long ago. 


1 


346 FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 

Somehow death must come to us all ; we never realize 
it until some pain seizes us — some physician’s verdict goes 
forth. But ever since, especially since I came to know yoUy 
my child, for what you are, I have felt feverishly eager, 
anxious on this subject. God grant all may end well ! 
And now, Dolly, will you call Alice, dear ? she 'knows all 
about my sickness, and has helped me keep it from Floy 
and others. I will go to bed, I think. The day has been a 
trying one. Will you wait, dear, a little longer, to say 
good-by upstairs after I am made comfortable as I can be 
for the night ? ” 

Left alone in the twilit parlor, Dolly’s reflections were 
most perplexing, yet some way a new courage, a new light, 
seemed to be given her. That there was much more to 
learn of Mrs. Hildreth’s history, much that no doubt would 
have its almost tragic side, she did not doubt, and yet she 
felt that together, and under Divine guidance, they might 
cope with all it would entail. “ If I could but help her to 
jomy,” thought Dolly. “ If I could teach her, help her to 
stretch out for that protecting, ever ready hand ; could 
make her feel her right to go boldly to the throne of grace; 
to obtain mercy, help in her time of need. Oh, dear Lord, 
if I could be wise, and patient, and good enough only to do 
this for one soul ! ” 

Alice’s voice roused Dorothy from the deep reverie into 
which this anxious train of thought had plunged her, and 
she rose quickly, going upstairs to Mrs. Hildreth’s bedroom ; 
a large, comfortable room it was, newly set in order by 
Alice, who was sincerely fond of her mistress, and sympa- 
thetic with her in her sufferings. 

The widow lay on her bed, a warm dressing wrapper of 
crimson flannel over her night attire, her profuse dark hair 
smoothed and braided compactly— made, indeed, as comfort- 


WEDDING BELLS AND A GOOD-BY. 


347 


able as her maid knew how — but Dolly did not need the 
confession of suffering incurably which Mrs. Hildreth had 
made, to know the pain which, if not actually at this 
moment, the widow must frequently endure. In the past 
few weeks new lines, a settled look of age and physical 
weariness, had come into the once handsome, still distin- 
guished looking, and clear-cut features, and now the pallor 
of the face was striking. 

As Dolly seated herself by the bedside, Mrs. Hildreth 
said, with faint smile : 

“ Dorothy, you must pray for me, my child, and help me 
to do it.” She stretched out her hand, and to Dolly’s satis- 
faction took a small Bible from the little stand. ‘‘ Read to 
me, dear, a little while,” she said ; closing her eyes as 
Dorothy took the book. “ Lately, I have been reading as I 
used to once.” 

Dorothy turned to the Psalms, her favorite reading for 
certain hours, when heart and soul needed strong uplifting — 
the help of another voice raised in eager, repentant, passion- 
ate longing for the comfort and grace from the very heart 
of the divine Lord and Master. And as she read, a sense 
of soothing, staying power seemed to fill her listener’s mind 
and soul. Dolly read the quorum f the xxxi of the 

Penitential Psalms. 

“Blessed are they whose iniquities are forgiven, and 

whose sins are covered I have acknowledged my sin 

to thee, and my injustice I have not concealed Thou 

art my refuge from the tribulation which hath surrounded 
me ; my joy, deliver me from them that encompass me. 
.... Many are the scourges of a sinner, but mercy shall 
encompass him that hopeth in the Lord. Be joyful in the 
Lord and rejoice ye just ! And glory all ye right of heart. 
. . . .” Dolly read on and on, the words filling her own 


348 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


heart with a deep sense of peace — of patience. ‘‘ Have 
mercy on me, O God ! According to thy great mercy, and 
according to the multitude of thy tender mercies, blot out 

my iniquity A sacrifice to God is an afilicted spirit ; 

a contrite and humble heart, O God ! thou wilt not de- 
spise.” 

Dolly had read nearly half an hour when the sound of a 
quick, familiar step on the twilit road caused her to raise her 
eyes. A moment later she could hear Thorndyke’s voice 
inquiring for her, and rose to go. 

Mrs. Hildreth held her hand tenderly as she bade her 
good-by. 

“You have helped me, my child,” she said gently. 

DonH forsake me, come what will; and the end is not 
far away.” She paused, breathed heavily, then with a 
faint smile added, “ Dolly, the words give me strength, if I 
dare. A sacrifice to God is an afilicted spirit. A contrite 
heart, O God ! thou wilt not despise ! ” 

Despise!'*'^ echoed Dolly, tears quivering on her dark 
lashes. “ How tenderly He will welcome and comfort it ! ” 


CHAPTER XLIV. 


“for honor’s sake.” 

Perhaps Dorothy told herself she was not feeling quite 
so well as usual, perhaps only a little weak-minded, but 
certainly it was with a curious sense of comfort, a longing 
for old confidential relations between them to be renewed, 
that she went downstairs knowing that Alfred was wait- 
ing for her. She smiled to herself as she realized how it 
pleased her to have him “ look her up ” in this fashion. 
She liked even the gravity of his expression, because it 
betokened care of her ; and when he watched critically 
while she put her furs on, and said, “ Now do keep that 
boa well up around your neck, Dorothy,” a little thrill of 
absurd delight passed through her, and Dorothy wondered 
how it would be to have some one always ready to think 
of and for and about j^our small needs, your little idle 
fancies or feelings. 

The walk home was briskly taken. Thorndyke had 
plenty to say, but he wanted to see Dolly comfortably 
established in her own blue and white parlor, where a fire 
was burning, where they were sure of an hour’s undisturbed 
talk — for Emily was busy in her own room and Sybil had 
sent word she was to take tea with Mrs. Rainey and the 
“ deluded ” Harry. 

“ There ! ” he exclaimed, with evident satisfaction, as, 
divested of her wraps and looking very lovely after her 
walk, — after the hour’s tender, sympathetic conference with 
Mrs. Hildreth, — Dorothy flung herself into her favorite 

349 


350 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE, 


wicker chair and g^zed up, smiling in what she considered 
a ‘‘ ridiculously ” happy fashion at her old bon camarade. 

Now you look comfortable, and as if you might endure a 
long harangue even from me.” 

“ Anything,” said Dolly blissfully. “ Now is your time, 
Alfred. If I were the queen this would be the time to ask 
me for anvthins: from the Kohinoor down to an India 
shawl.” 

She smiled, but it was easily seen, especially by the pair 
of keen eyes watching her, that her mood was an earnest 
if joyous one. Thorndyke knew the girl thoroughly, de- 
lighted in that faculty of hers to respond like a child to 
the touch of what brought even a simple happiness, a pas- 
sing pleasure, others would perhaps pass by, but which, 
with her rich nature, she seized on and enjoyed to its fullest ; 
and it thrilled him now to feel, looking into those fair, clear 
ej^es, upraised to his face, that it was happiness, if transient, 
for her to find herself thus with him, for a quiet, perhaps 
confidential talk. 

“ The queen ! ” he echoed. “ Well, you certainly have 
your kingdom ! I am setting out, you know, on my first 
knight errantry — will your Majesty give me shield and 
buckler, or sword ? Give me my armor, Dolly, and I swear I 
will keep my vigil reverently beside it, and wear it to vic- 
tory ! ” 

His eyes were smiling, but his voice had a strange, passion- 
ate cadence in it which startled the girl and made it hard 
for an instant to speak ; but she said as quickly as 
possible : 

“ What armor can I give, Alfred, but the hopes, en- 
couragement, pride, and faith in you, which you hnow are 
yours? Yes, freely, utterly ! You little guess how anxious 
I am not to see the old ideals quite break down ! ” 


“ FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


351 


“They will not,” he said, in a tone of deep earnestness ; 
“ you must not think me cynical or merely worldly, Dolly, 
when I point out to you the matter-of-fact side of political 
life. It is because I see that it is forced on me — I know pre- 
cisely the other side, and shall hope to be courageous enough 
to win unstained laurels there ; laurels,” he added gravely, 
“ the world may never see, I shall be proud enough only to 
bring to you — to wear in my heart, my conscience. I know 
the sordid, mean, purely ambitious side, and I see precisely 
how far we have drifted away from some of the ‘high 
purposes which were the result, I suppose, of the exalted 
heroism of the revolution. Mind, I am not crying all the 
machinery of the government down ! Not a bit of it. Only 
I know precisely the pitfalls there will be on my path in 
this sort of a career. You remember old Cicero,” he smiled, 
“ and our talk long ago — in Pauline’s drawing-room, was it 
not ? nor need the wise man live till the plaudite. It is the 
fashion, nowadays, to cry down sentiment of any kind in 
serving one’s country, yet I own I should be content if any- 
thing I did found the plaudite^ years after I was in ashes, 
in the good of the people, however little, however re- 
motely.” 

“ You have your armor,” the girl said, with shining eyes. 
“ I am not afraid, Alfred, to see you set out ! What more 
could I say, could I do ? what else is there to give you ?” 

She spoke rapidly, with absolute unconsciousness of a 
personal meaning ; but in an instant, the change in Thorn- 
dyke’s face, the sort of pallor that swept across it, almost 
prepared her for his words. 

‘‘ Dorothy ! ” he exclaimed, restraint for once flung to the 
winds ; voice, tone, look, all rushing their story of emotion, 
long pent feeling, vainly deferred hope, upon her. “There 
is much, all, everything to give ! Yourself! Dorothy, 


352 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


God alone knows, sweetheart, how utterly, absolutely I love, 
reverence you ! I know how wild and presumptuous it is. 
I had vowed I would not betray it, yet, at least ; but it had 
to be ! It would have stifled me ! ” 

Long afterward Dorothy recalled, as incidents in a dream 
come back, the very look of the room ; tlie sounds faintly to 
be heard on the roadway ; in distant parts of the great, 
almost silent house ; every line of the dark face before her ; 
its strength, passion, tenderness, all vividly, permanently 
stamped as it were on a heart and brain that throbbed with 
joy for a brief instant, then with dull, agonizing pain, for 
between her and the love held out to round and, as it were, 
perfect her fair young life, was the thought of the cousin 
she had always loved ! Would she for an instant grasp 
her own happiness to break Honor’s heart ? 

Vanity, had she possessed it, or even a firmer conscious- 
ness of her own merits, would have made clear to Dolly, in 
that supreme moment, that she had no right to sacrifice 
Thorndyke’s happiness with her own ; but that it did not oc- 
cur to her was because the joy, the misery, seemed all her own. 

“No, you must not ; it cannot, should not be,” Dorothy 
said, herself feeling stifled. She made an imploring ges- 
ture with her hands, and looked at him with eyes full of 
misery. “ O Alfred ! forget forget it ! ” 

She turned suddenly from him, and flinging herself into 
a chair near a little table, buried her face in her hands, 
bursting into an agony of tears. 

For a moment Thorndyke felt as if the room reeled about 
him ; yet what, he vaguely asked himself, what had he ex- 
pected ; and the spectacle of Dorothy, shaken with sobs, in 
such evident miseiy that tears came unrestrainedly from 
eyes he had never but once seen dimmed in this fashion, 
wrung his heart. 


“ FOR HONORS SAKE. 


353 


“ Dorotliy ! ” he said eagerly, and coming forward he 
laid his hand upon the girl’s shoulder. ‘‘ God knows you 
have put a sorry task upon me. Forget it ! No, dear ; not 
while I breathe — not, I believe, when the very grave is over 
me ! Why should I forget wliat has been for years the 
one purpose of my life — its best, highest influence ! But I 
will not lose my self-control again ! Heavens ! wdiat it 
would be to me to start out knowing some da}^ I should 
have you for my wife ! Is there, can there be no hope ? ” 
The girl had raised her face ; she drew her hand across 
her eyes and gazed miserably before her, his voice reach- 
ing her ears, her heart, wringing it mercilessly now. 

“ One thing,” said Thorndyke eagerly. “ Now that I 
have laid my heart bare to you, I have the right to ask one 
question — only one fact will kill all hope within me. Is 
it — because you love — some one else ? ” 

For an instant a wild longing to forget Honor put the 
fair delicate face, the blue eyes and sweet red lips with 
their look of wistful pleading, from her, and take the hap- 
piness, the honest love offered, kept Dorothy silent, but in 
the next instant she remembered that loyalty should come 
first ; and true only to her usual desire to advance the hap- 
piness of her cousin no matter what the personal cost, she 
said, in a voice strangely unlike her own, not daring to look 
at Thorndyke : 

“ Yes, that is the reason.” And silence — endless, tortur- 
ing, it seemed to Dorothy — fell between them. 

The daylight had almost faded ; there were sounds above, 
as of some one moving slowly about. A clock on the stair- 
way chimed half -past-five before Thorndyke moved from 
his station in the window, where, with folded arms and com- 
pressed lips, he stood gazing out. 

“ I must go,” he said suddenly, wrenching himself away. 

23 


354 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


He drew nearer to her, noted with misery the pallor of 
her face, the weariness of her eyes, the utter dejection in 
every line of her figure. Part from her he must, and speak 
as he had allowed himself this once he never could again ; 
but to leave her in wretchedness like this his manliness for- 
bade, and it was with an effort at perfect composure any 
way he said, holding out his hand for good-by : 

“ You must forget this, Dorothy ! As you told me in 
Beckport that day, kindness and comradeship may remain ; 
and look to me in a7iy need, at any time as your friend — al- 
ways. Do not fear being confidential with me. Believe 
me, I shall never repeat the folly of this, this last day ; you 
will have only my friendly services to trouble you hence- 
forth.” 

A look, half a smile, half of the protecting tenderness of 
an older brother, lighted his grave young face, and Dorothy, 
laying her little cold, trembling fingers in the hand he of- 
fered, tried to smile in return, but she was deadly pale ; 
every nerve and fibre seemed to throb and quiver. 

“You are so much better than I deserve,” she said 
brokenly, and added, with a passionate effort to “ right ” 
matters for all, “ Alfred, you will, you must forget it ! and 
think of some one, something else.” 

“ Dorothy ! ” he spoke almost sharply, but with a tone 
that commanded her silence and attention, “ listen to me, 
child. I have promised you never again to trouble you 
with a repetition of what escaped me almost unawares to- 
day, but more than that you can neither demand of me nor 

shall I expect from myself. And one thing more, dear ” 

he moved about the room restlessly for a moment ; how famil- 
iar the pacing of the fioor in that fashion was ; how natural 
to see him at last stand by the mantel and rest his head an 
instant on his hand, while Dorothy gazed sadly at the fine. 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


355 


strong profile, clear and dark, the line of mustache scarcely 
concealing the fine curve of the lips ; the resolute square 
chin, older by far than his years in look and feeling. 
Thorndyke seemed to the girl a man fitted to command, to 
guide, to protect, and all her heart went out tliat last 
moment in wild yearning to place her hands in his, lift her 
eyes to his sombre face, and give him the love, the loyalty, 
the promise for the future that he craved. 

“It had to come to my knowledge, latel}^,” Thorn- 
dyke said at last, facing her again, “ that you have gone 
into some business, some investment, I presume, on your own 
responsibility ; mind,” as a wave of color swept across her 
cheeks, “ I am not wishing to pry into anything, or even to 
give unasked counsel, only let me beg of you to be prudent, 
to be careful ! Think of what the General would say or feel, 
how interpret your doing anything so serious without con- 
sulting him ! I cannot bear to go away and leave you, per- 
haps in danger of seriously offending him.” 

“Offending him! the General?” faltered Dolly, pale 
enough again now. “ What is it, Alfred ; what have you 
heard ? ” 

“Only this,” said the young man steadily, more con- 
vinced than ever, by her manner, that there was a cloud on 
her fair horizon. “ The General had an idea that he might 
buy up that ten-acre piece for you near the Homestead. I 
don’t mind telling you he meant it for your birthday, and 
commissioned me to look into it. Well, I had to see Overby, 
your present tenant — tliat was my reason for going to J ohns- 
burg last week — and found him in the act of arranging to 
pay your rent to a man I know very slightly, named Hoblet.” 

Dolly stood still, her heart beating wildly, but not know- 
ing what to say. At last, and not moving her eyes from 
Alfred’s face, she said slowly : 


356 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


“ And the General — does he know of this ? ” 

“ Not yet, I believe,” said Thorndyke, inexpressibly dis- 
tressed by her evident anxiety, which hinted at far more 
than he knew, he felt sure. ‘‘ But think of it, at any moment 
he may know this, your seeing old Baker ; it will all make 
wretchedness perhaps for you ! Dorothy ! ” he exclaimed, 
anxiety to help her overcoming every other feeling, “ re- 
ject my love if you must ! Forbid me to speak of it, dear, 
until we are both beyond this world, but do let me help you, 
save you from trouble with your guardian ! Can you not con- 
fide in me in this matter ! surely you can trust me so far.” 

“ Trust you ! ” echoed Dorothy, with a wan smile ; and 
seating herself, she remained silent a moment in deep 
thought, her arms stretched before her on the table, while 
the very way she clasped her hands painfully together 
showed the tension of her nerves. “ O Alfred, I would 
give worlds at this moment to tell you all — everything ! Oh 
if I only could ! If I alone were involved in it.” She 
breathed quickly, her eyes, fixed on the face of her friend, 
were intensely mournful, and, to Thorndyke, touching in 
their expression of perplexity, weariness, dejection. “ My 
word is pledged, now at least, for some weeks, perhaps. 
I cannot break it ; no — even to the General himself.” 

“ Dorothy,” Thorndyke exclaimed, deeply moved and in- 
dignant, “who has dared to make you, a girl knowing 
nothing of the world, — nothing of business really, — sign 
away your income, pledge yourself to a secrecy which may 
involve all your future happiness as the General’s ward ? 
Believe me, dear, no one who could do this had a right 
to your consideration — far less, your generosity ! ” 

“ But it is done,” Dolly exclaimed desperately ; “ O Al- 
fred, doni)t ask me more now ! I promise I will go to you 
freely with it all^ directly I can ! ” 


“ FOB HONORS SAKE: 


35V 


There was almost a sob in her voice. 

“ And should the General learn of it, as I did ? ” he asked 
anxiously. 

“ I could say nothing more,” she answered miserably. 

“ Then, for the present I am powerless,” he said, in a 
moment, once more stretching out his strong, well-shaped 
brown hand for good-by. ‘‘ But, Dorothy, this is our 
compact, dear. You are to come to me for any help, any 
service I can render.” 

“ Yes; ” she tried to smile, but it was through a mist of 
tears again. 

“ God keep you,” he murmured, closing her hand in firmly 
for an instant between both of his — a strong pressure of 
her trembling fingers, held for one brief instant against 
his heart ; and when Dolly raised her head, drooping as the 
tears flowed freely again, she heard the hall door close 
sharply and knew that he had gone ; that she* was — per- 
haps would be forever — utterly alone. 


CHAPTER XLV. 


THE “CEEDIT OF THE FAMILY.” 

“ There, now ! I declare the rooms look real nice, don’t 
they, ma ?” 

Pauline drew hack, duster in hand, to contemplate tho 
effect of a rearrangement of some of the furniture in the 
parlor of a rather cramped flat on Thirty-fourth Street, 
which she and her mother now called home. There were 
only four other rooms — two dark, or half-lit bedrooms, a 
tiny dining-room adjoining the parlor, with one good win- 
dow, and S cosy, compact kitchen, presided over by one 
maid of all work — altogether a decided change from the 
richly furnished house where Dolly had paid that memo- 
rable visit, with its luxurious table and half-dozen servants ; 
but Mrs. Molesworth was abundantly satisfied, and by no 
means anxious enough, her daughters considered, to save 
even the wreck of her fortunes. Twelve hundred a j^ear 
slie hoped to secure through the instrumentality of a 
friendly lawyer, but at present little more than half that 
could be depended upon, and but for Dorothy Kent’s timely 
services Pauline’s marriage could not have been thought of, 
perhaps for years to come. But “ Dave ” was alreadj’’ be- 
ginning to make money illustrating for a new periodical, 
designed rather as an advertisement for something in the 
patent drug line than anything especially literary ; and, 
meanwhile, he was constantly under Fraser’s keen, critical 
eye, and by his means and influence ^introduced to a capi- 


THE “ CREDIT OF THE FAMILTT 359 

tally managed life class, where the models were grouped 
and posed by a well-known illustrator, and the instruction 
and criticism the very best. Dolly had discussed the whole 
matter with her guardian, and although he had teasingly 
inquired whether she was going into the business of start- 
ing all her young friends in life, he had not refused to give 
her a blank check for such expenditure as she — guided by 
Mrs. Anderson — might see wise and beneficial for her old 
schoolmate and her future husband. Fraser’s good opinion 
of young Brooks had militated strongly in his favor with 
the General ; the artist, like Thorndyke, being very much 
to the old soldier’s liking, as a thorough gentleman, honest 
as the day, and finely independent. So Dorothy, and Mrs. 
Anderson, and Miss Dearborn had held various confabs, 
and as a result, she was to spend an hour this morning 
talking matters over with Pauline and her mother. 

“ Oh, it looks nice enough,” said Mrs. Molesworth, letting 
her sewing rest on her knees while she glanced about the 
little parlor reflectively. “ I don’t suppose Dolly ’ll mind, 
any way — and you say she has every thing. 

“ Everything but Dave ; ” laughed Pauline ; “ and upon 
my word, ma, if I could be jealous of him, I would ; he just 
raves about her. There’s the bell — I hope Ann looks fit to 
be seen.” 

But a rather high-pitched voice and the rustle of draper- 
ies announced a very different visitor from the one expected ; 
and as Mrs. Seaman came into the room, Pauline’s face fell. 
Did Soph mean to stay, she wondered ? She was very 
chary of her visits since her mother and sister, to use her 
husband’s expression, “came down in the world,” and 
seemed always on her guard lest any favors should be re- 
quired. 

“Well, ma,” Sophy began, seating herself in the easiest 


360 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


chair and flinging back her rich fur-lined cloak, “I’ll tell 
you what’s brought me to-day. I want to know — and so 
does George — what’s all this talk I hear about Pauline’s 
getting married to Brooks and going to take lodgers or 
boarders or something.” 

Pauline’s face flushed crimson ; but before she had time 
to speak Mrs. Molesworth said, in her matter-of-fact voice, 
and going on with her sewing : 

“ How’d you hear it ? I don’t see as it’s any of George’s 
concern.” 

almost shrieked Sophy, “ain’t he got the 
credit of the family to think of ? Well, I guess so ! ” 

“ He needn’t to worry,” said Pauline, inspired by feeling 
her mother ‘ on her side,’ and ready to be good-natured. 
“ ’ Tisn’t likely Mr. Brooks will ask his consent or his bless- 
ing, and I’m sure I shan’t, Sophy ; and as for the credit of 
the family, why I hope they’ll feel the honor Mr. Brooks 
has done me and all of them.” 

Sophy laughed contemptuously. “ And d’ye suppose if 
you run your silly little neck into this halter, George ’ll ever 
look at you again. Miss Consequence ? ” 

“ I’m sure I never gave it a thought,” smiled Pauline, too 
well aware of the drift of her sister’s remarks to care about 
what George might think or feel on any subject. “ But 
you can give him my love, and tell him his wedding cards 
will come in time to send me a lovely present. I think I’d 
rather have*^ rubies than diamonds. They’re more worn this 
year.” 

Sophy’s irritation knew no bounds. Pauline was per- 
fectly right in surmising that her great fear was lest she be 
called upon to spend anything in making her sister ready 
to be married, and even now, she did not know just how 
much was Pauline’s banter — how much serious earnest. 


THE “ CREDIT OF THE FAMILY: 


361 


All the morning — ever since her sister Mrs. James had “ run 
over ” from the East side to tell her of Pauline’s impending 
marriage, she had tormented herself wondering what would 
be “ expected of her,” or rather how she could escape doing 
anything. Ready to lavish anything on her children or 
herself which would make a show, Mrs. Seaman absolutely 
declined to loose her purse-strings for any one else’s needs, 
no matter how urgent ; but here was a case where perhaps 
a formal demand might be made. 

“ Rubies — diamonds, indeed ! ” she exclaimed angrily. 
“ No, indeed. I tell you what it is, Pauline, you know just 
how George feels about it noio ; and if you go on ” 

Pauline laughed lightly. 

“ Why, Soph,” she exclaimed, ‘‘ don’t talk nonsense. 
I’m going out house-hunting this very morning with a 
friend ; there — that’s her now, I guess.” And before the 
mystified Mrs. Seaman could speak, Ann, previously in- 
structed, had ushered in Miss Kent. 

Dorothy was looking a trifle less blooming, perhaps, than 
was her wont ; there was a suggestion of delicacy in the 
outline of her fair young cheek, of purplish rings about 
her eyes, and there were lines, that looked as of pain, about 
the sweet curve of her lips ; but in a perfectly fitting 
“ tailor-made ” gown of gray wools, just touched here and 
there with silver, and vested in plush of dark gray like her 
toque,— as the French say, “perfectly gloved, perfectly 
shod,” — and carrying, with her dainty muff, a great bunch of 
crimson roses, she filled Mrs. Seaman’s idea of what, indif- 
ferent as to sex, she called a “ swell,” and as, acknowledg- 
ing rather carelessly Sophy’s greeting, she kissed Pauline 
and went up to offer Mrs. Molesworth the roses, she roused 
feelings almost of despair in Sophy’s narrow mind. Why 
had not she instead of Pauline pushed to a renewal of old 


362 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


acquaintance with a girl not only acknowledged heiress to 
millions, but whose name was to be seen every other day 
in “ society ” items as being here or there ; always, how- 
ever, in that world, that Paradise of social exclusiveness, at 
whose gates the Seamans had so long, so valiantly clamored, 
all in vain. 

“ Are you ready, Pauline ? ” Dolly was saying in her 
clear, sweet voice, a decided contrast to Mrs. Seaman’s 
shrill tones. She glanced at the watch on her chatelaine. 
“ I think we ought to be going. I have a list of addresses, 
and I brought the coupe, for Peters is so good about find- 
ing places quickly.” 

Pauline beamed. Impossible to measure her delight and 
satisfaction; and while she went away to put on her wraps, 
Mrs. Seaman braced herself to a “now-or-never” effort in 
which lost time might be made up, lost ground regained. 

“ I see you go to the ‘ Antiques,’ ” she observed, with 
studied carelessness. “ That gauze and silver net dress you 
wore must have been lovely, Dolly.” (“I will call her 
Dolly,” she refiected, “for if we do make up it’ll look 
so well.”) 

Dorothy’s expressive lips closed with just the faintest 
suspicion of a smile as she acknowledged the compliment. 
To be Pauline’s friend once more, under her altered cir- 
cumstances, was one thing ; to accept the smallest advance 
from a rich, vulgar, underbred woman like Sophy Seaman 
was, in Dolly’s code, distinctly another. 

“We’re going to have a party in a short time,” Mrs. 
Seaman continued, determined not to be put down; “per- 
haps, if I send you a card, you will favor us ? ” 

And now Dolly’s lips relaxed. She felt like saying, with 
the young man asked to take roast mutton, “ No, I never 
indulge”; but she only answered good-humoredly : 


THE “ CREDIT OF THE FAMILTT 


363 


“ Thank you, Mrs. Seaman, I’m sure ; but I hardly think 
it’s worth while to send it. I have made all the engage- 
ments I dare for a month ahead.” 

‘‘Oh, I suppose so,” sniffed Sophy. “Anyway, noioa- 
days, I suppose. Miss Dolly, we ain’t good enough for you. 
It seems a very short time though ” 

Dolly’s cheeks had colored a little, and perhaps it was as 
well that Pauline appeared at this moment, ready for the 
expedition, and, with a ceremonious good-morning, Dorothy 
led the way from the room. 

“ Well of all insolent girls ! ” declared Sophy, who, 
however, was unable to resist gazing out of the window at 
Dorothy’s elegant little equipage, with its quiet, unosten- 
tatious liveries. “ She’ll catch me trying to be polite again. 
Wouldn’t George be hopping if he knew I’d lowered my- 
self to ask her. Where they going, ma, any way ? ” she 
continued, resuming her seat, and determined to get all the 
information possible, so that the visit need not soon be re- 
peated. Of late, neither her mother nor Pauline went often 
to Mr. Seaman’s luxurious mansion on the Park. 

“ Miss Kent is very kind about it all,” said Mrs. Moles- 
worth quietly. “ She is going now to look up a house for 
Pauline. It was she — and that Mr. Fraser, who is so good 
to Dave — who suggested their taking a house and letting 
some of the rooms.” 

“ A housed'' said Sophy again, dreading taxation. “ But 
whdd be security ! You can’t just walk in and rent a house 
with talk,'*'* 

“Nobody’s a-goin’ to, Sophy Seaman,” said Mrs. Moles- 
worth, roused, as was rarely the case, to some show of irrita- 
tion against her married daughter, her eldest, the baby who 
had been the joy and darling of her “poor happy days,” as 
she called them. 


364 


FOB HONORIS SAKE. 


‘‘ Dolly Kent’s doing all that, and she’s making a wedding 
present of her trousseau to Pauline besides. Now!"''* Mrs. 
Molesworth could not deny herself a little sniff of satisfac- 
ion. 

‘‘ ejaculated Sophy, mortified, annoyed, jealous, 

all at once, “ I wish you joy of the whole affair ! Perhaps, 
if it ain’t taking a liberty, I might ask what you mean to 
do.” 

Mrs. Molesworth’s weather-beaten face glowed, and there 
was not lacking a spice of malicious pleasure in dealing the 
crowning blow to Sophy’s “ family credit ” in her answer. 

‘‘ I’m goin’ down to live with your Aunt Sophy Holden,” 
she said demurely, “ in the old house, right over the old 
store ! Dear me ! how I’ve wanted to do it for years ! 
Guess Sophy and me’ll take our solid comfort after all.” 

“ Mother f shrieked Mrs. Seaman, “ you shati^t do any- 
thing of the kind ! Why, why, I’d sooner aSk you to live 
with us, and so would George ! Do you suppose I’d think 
of letting the children down there ! ” 

A shade crossed Mrs. Molesworth’s glowing face. Badly 
bred, ostentatious, purse-proud the little Seamans might be, 
but they were after all her flesh and blood, and her grand- 
motherly heart yearned over them. 

“ Oh, I guess you’ll come around, Sophy,” was all she 
said, but her poor old heart gave a quiver. The shot told. 

“ Ab, ma,” was Sophy’s ultimatum as she rose to go. 
“ If you choose to go and fly in the face of society that way, 
you can’t expect me to act the same, nor let the children.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know as I care about society much,” said 
Mrs. Molesworth quietly ; “ and Sophy, I know I shall see 
the children. They love me and I them. Well, good-by, 
my dear, if you must go.” 

But left alone, Mrs. Molesworth found herself wondering 


THE “ CREDIT OF TEE FAMILY, 


365 


how, after all, this long-desired and decisive step, she con- 
templated making, would really alfect her intercourse if not 
with Sophy, with her children. And it was with a long- 
drawn sigh of pain she realized that even now they had 
drifted so far from her the change from Ninety-fourth to 
Greenwich Street, could scarcely widen what lay between 
them, in feeling, habit, thought, sentiment — all that made 
them, made her, what they were. 


CHAPTER XLVL 


‘‘a winter blossom.” 

If Dorothy was almost childishly happy over this expedi- 
tion, what could be said of Pauline, to whom it meant more 
even than she could express to Dolly in her most demon- 
strative moments, for had she not seen Dave thrive, and look 
bright and happy, work well and courageously, the past few 
weeks, under the stimulus of a prosperity which included 
not only happiness with Pauline, to whom he was devotedly 
attached, but a ‘‘ chance ” at developing what he felt within 
himself was the “ real thing ” ; nay, touched even with a 
spark of genuine “afflatus.” 

“ Now, let’s see the list,” Dolly said, as soon as they were 
in the carriage. “Peters, try — West Tenth Street,” and 
away rolled the carriage, Pauline chattering away about all 
manner of topics — what she and Dave had discussed the 
night before being of first consideration. 

“ Dave thinks it grand^"' she declared, looking at Dolly 
earnestly, “ that we can have Miss Dearborn with us. He 
says that he thinks her so lovely and she’ll be such a com- 
fort to me.” 

Dolly smiled with pleasure, yet she could not help recall- 
ing how Miss Dearborn had received her dismissal years 
ago from Mrs. Seaman, at a time when the two dollars a 
week she was earning with such difflculty meant so much 
to her. It was a special trial to Dolly that she could see so 
little of her Cousin Priscilla, could not ask her to the 
General’s house ; but if she were only once established with 


A wmmu blossom:’ 


367 


Pauline, then it would not only be an easier matter to see 
her there, but there would be the great relief of feeling 
that the lonely little lady was with friends who would care 
for her needs — care for her in sickness or health. 

The house in Tenth Street proved to be an old-fashioned, 
roomy dwelling, with two rooms on the first floor, one of 
which had an alcove ; four on the next flight, and four above, 
with a fourth floor which fulfilled the terms of the advertise- 
ment, “ suitable for an artist.” The large front room had 
a north light — a skylight — and was wonderfully adaptable, 
while the three rooms remaining could certainly be let to ad- 
vantage. Dolly was sure that this house would be desirable, 
but they searched for two or three hours longer, and about 
two o’clock, to Pauline’s added delight, drove to the studio, 
where Dave was busy working over an ‘‘ order ” from 
Johnson’s. 

Donald Fraser, pipe in full blow, the old velveteen coat 
and cap on as usual, started forward as they entered, his 
honest, rugged face glowing, and the tones of his voice 
hearty and cordial. He had not seen Dolly for some days, 
and as he welcomed her and Pauline, a rather short but 
well built young man, with close-cropped wavy blond hair, 
fine blue eyes, and a slight, fair mustache came forward 
rather shyly, coloring with pleasure at sight of the girls. 
To David Brooks this tall, queenly girl, wdth the sweet 
proud eyes and lips, the gentle high breeding, and generosity, 
which fain would impose so little obligation, was like some 
princess of romance, some creature out of song, poetry, or 
ideal picture, and he had in her presence a feeling of some- 
thing between reverence and enthusiasm, which, however, in 
no wise clashed with the honest hearty love he gave 
Pauline more loyally than ever. It seemed to the young 
fellow quite the most wonderful thing in the world that 


368 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


such a one as Miss Kent should have come into their lives, 
glorifying, helping, stimulating, encouraging them ; and 
it was with pride and delight he saw his little sweetheart 
with Dolly in such a friendly fashion. 

Dorothy went first to David’s easel, where he was working 
diligently, finishing a sketch in which Pauline figured as a 
girl in a sunbonnet, very effectively. 

“ You see. Miss Kent,” he said smilingly, “ I try to feel 
I’m getting on a little. That doesn’t look altogether bad, 
does it ? ” 

Dolly puckered up her brows, looked here and there, this 
side and that, critically. “ Ko, indeed — only ” she hesi- 
tated, “ don’t you think that bench ought to come a trifle 
more just here,” and she moved her thumb around scientifi- 
cally, to David’s delight. 

“ Kow that's what I like so much. Miss Dorothy,” Fraser 
said, joining them, with his hands in his pockets ; “you’re 
never afraid to criticise. Brooks, old fellow. Miss Kent is 
right ; stick the bench further over out of the way of that 
milk-pail. He’s coming, I tell you ! One of these days we’ll 
hear of Mr. David Brooks, K. A ; don’t you worry ! ” 

“ Yes, wonH we ? ” beamed Pauline, to whom David’s 
“art” was simply comparable to Raphael Sanzio’s at the 
least. “Oh, I think it’s all lovely^'"* she added pensively, look- 
ing from one easel to the other and then around the large 
studio, whose appointments fascinated her thoroughly, just 
as the idea of being an “artist’s wife,” touched the vein of 
romance in her nature, and stimulated in a happy way her 
imagination and love of the perhaps dramatic side of life. 
Pauline would never demand great things of her husband, 
so that he could never disappoint her ; and her profound 
faith in him, her limitless admiration, would be the very 
best sort of incentive a somewhat timid and self-deprecia- 


A WINTER blossom: 


369 


tory nature, such as David’s, would require ; while her love 
was genuine ; and that with a little experience, patience, and 
help she would make a good housekeeper, Dolly had no 
doubt whatever. 

Leaving David to hear about the house from Pauline, 
Dorothy went back to Fraser’s easel, where he was working 
somewhat laboriously over his Academy picture. She 
smiled, and looked up at him without speaking, for the girl, 
standing in the firelight of an oak-raftered and panelled 
hall, holding a spray of flowers in her hand, was so like 
Honor that it almost startled her. He had called it, “ A 
Winter Blossom.” Dorothy had not seen it since the first 
rough outlines were put in. 

“ I’m all in a muddle over it,” he observed, with a frown. 
“ I think I’ve got that background too heavy — what is it ? 
The girl seems all right ; how do you like her ? ” 

“ It is wonderfully lovely, wonderfully like ! ” exclaimed 
Dolly quickly. “ Mr. Fraser, let me make the first offer 
for it.” 

He turned his head to look down quizzically at Dolly’s 
bright face. 

“ Couldn’t, Miss Dolly,” he remarked ; “ sorry to disap- 
point you, but it’s gone already.” 

“ Indeed ! you are in luck this winter, it seems to me.” 

“Well, this is bespoke by the old man himself. By the 
way,” and he moved over to a table, where he fumbled 
around among a mass of things for the morning paper, 
“ did you see how our youthful Demosthenes has been stir- 
ring things up at the capital ? I actually robbed myself of 
a quarter to telegraph my joy.” 

“ Ho ! ” exclaimed Dolly eagerly, her face flushed, her 
eyes sparkling, and her heart giving a quick throb of de- 
light. She held out her hands quickly and stood motionless 
24 


370 


FOR nONOR’S SAKE. 


the next five minutes, reading every word given of Thorn- 
dyke’s speech before the Senate ; the highly colored compli- 
mentary remarks made upon it by press and public. When 
she raised her eyes, with the glow of pride and pleasure 
kindling their very depths, she was too excited to note the 
peculiarly critical shrewd expression upon Fraser’s face ; 
nor did she guess that he was saying to himself, “ And she 
refused him ! By George, I’d like to know why ! ” 

“You telegraphed, you say?” said Dolly, still radiant, 
her voice inexpressibly sweet in tone. “ Mr. Fraser, I must 
write him a line, any way, before I sleep to-night. We 
ought to be very proud of him.” 

“ We ought? We are ! ” smiled Fraser, with a touch 
curiously like compassion in his voice. He rubbed out 
something in his picture, and continued, “ I had a letter 
from Miss Honor to-day. She favors me thus sometimes. 
It’s next best to seeing her. I’m afraid she’s not very well, 
and I think I’ll take a run up to Johnsburg and have a look 
at her. See?” 

“Yes,” said Dorothy, inclined to be shrewd and critical 
herself now. Her heart beat sympathetically ; what could 
she say or do to save him pain. 

“ Miss Dorothy,” he said presently, “ come and look at 
this hat I picked up the other day at Loggi’s. He swindled 
me, of course, but I had to have the hat.” 

They crossed to the furthermost end of the room and 
Fraser took down a very picturesque felt “Gainsborough” 
from a shelf, while he continued speaking in a lower tone : 

“ When I go to Johnsburg, you’ll wish me luck, I hope? 
Marrying and giving in marriage seem some way in the air ; 
I don’t know how or why, but I think I’ve reached the fit- 
ting moment to put my fate to the test. God knows,” ho 
added gravely, “ God knows that I love her.” 


WINTER blossom:' 


371 


Dorothy for an instant could not speak, but perliaps her 
eyes, fastened almost mournfully upon his face, spoke for 
her. At all events, Fraser returned their glance with a 
queer laugh. 

‘‘ You think I’ve no chance, I can see, but — well, do you 
know, it’s the sort of thing I’d never let man or woman de- 
ter me from doing, if I settled in my own mind that my 
happiness depended upon it. If you were to tell me you 
knew she’d never look at me, still I’d go ahead and find out 
for myself.” 

‘‘And you are right,” said Dolly, in a low quick tone. 
“ I would spare you pain if I could, and yet, as you say, to 
find out for yourself is the best, the orily way ; and Mr. 
Fraser, of one thing rest assured, you would be more than 
welcome to us all.” 

He smiled and clasped her hand heartily in his strong 
one. 

“ Thank you,” he said ; “ I’ve thought of this a long 
time. Heavens ! how I’ve hoped and prayed for it ! Now, 
it seems to me, I must say the word. I’ve been afraid to 
startle her away from any liking she might have begun, 
you know, to have for me. I’d keep her happy, I think, if 
she’d let me have the chance, for all I seem so rough com- 
pared to her ! ” 

“ Ah,” cried Dolly softly, “ you deserve it. If only ” 

“ Never mind,” he said, with a shrewd smile. “ Anyhow 
I can but try. Nice hat, isn’t it ? ” 

And they sauntered back to where Pauline and Brooks 
were still eagerly talking — the house being under discussion, 
as Dorothy explained to Fraser. 

The Tenth Street dwelling, they decided, was likely to 
prove the best, and Dorothy said, carelessly, she would 
have the agent call at Mr. Rogers’s office, and the place 


3V2 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


looked into. Miss Dearborn was next to be consulted, and 
the girls went away direct to her lodgings, stopping at a 
restaurant, where Dolly made some purchases, declaring 
they would have an impromptu luncheon or afternoon tea, 
with her cousin. 


CHAPTER XLVIL 


THE TEINKET IS EETUENED TO ITS PLACE OF HONOE. 

Miss Deaeboen still occupied the picturesque, dormer- 
roofed room, or “ sky parlor,” as Alfred called it, where she 
and he had spent so many happy hours long ago, and when 
the girls went in they found her just making ready for her 
late lunch, it being one of her busy days. 

To see Dolly was always a keen pleasure to the lonely 
woman, who never had or could forget the time her young 
cousin had sought her out with the first message of love 
and good cheer which had come into her sad life for years ; 
and Dorothy’s devotion, her sweet sympathetic thought, 
and general care of Miss Priscilla had been unvarying 
from that day to this, while Thorndyke, whom Dolly had 
also brought to her as a friend, was her hero — her idol ; and 
she felt she had Dorothy to thank for the friendship, which 
was almost the feeling of mother and son, which existed be- 
tween them. Alfred was at all times a favored and 
privileged guest. He could come to Miss Dearborn to 
grumble, to rejoice, to be despondent, or enthusiastic ; in 
any and every mood he had a welcome, and it was scarcely 
a surprise to Dorothy to find he had telegraphed his special 
confidante word of his success. Well he knew no greater 
pleasure could be given her. 

“ Well, girls,” said Miss Dearborn, “ just in time for a 
bite with me ; and, of course, I want to know about the 
house.” 

They sketched the morning’s journey and decision ; 

373 


374 


FOB HONOR'S SAKE. 


meanwliilG Miss Dearborn had time to observe that 
Dorothy was not looking her best ; yet it was hard to note 
sign of any real ailment. Something, however, the little 
lady was very certain had “ gone wrong.” 

“ I should think that ought to suit us,” she said, when 
Pauline had described the “ very room, with a small one 
adjoining,” she knew Miss Dearborn would like. “ Let me 
see, Pauline ; when are jmu to be married ? ” 

Pauline blushed brightly. 

“ To-day month — barely time to do everything in, but 
David says he knows we can hurry.” 

“ And Pauline and I are to begin dressmaking in earnest 
at once. Cousin Pris ; so if that nice woman, whose children 
you teach, will be at home downstairs, we might as well 
see her, I suppose.” 

Miss Dearborn flew off to consult her “ patron ” and 
landlady, Mrs. Briggs, who was a dressmaker, and just 
enough in need of work to give the tinge of satisfaction she 
liked best in serving her. 

Meanwhile the girls were discussing, as they had before, 
how four hundred dollars could best be expended for Paul- 
ine’s ‘‘things” and yet a certain margin left for “something 
in her pocket ” when the new life began. Dorothy meant 
to go through her own wardrobe, where she knew of in- 
numerable articles Pauline would not “mind accepting,” 
she thought, and which would come in very usefully. 
Meanwhile three or four new dresses would be ample, they 
decided. 

“ If you have a good black silk, and a pretty house dress, 
and an out-of-door costume, new,” said Dolly, “ there’ll be 
lots of other things, between us, we can make very nicely. 
You ought to try and save at least a hundred dollars.” 

“ To hear her, ma,” Pauline said later, “ you’d think it 


TUE TRINKET IS RETURNED. 


375 


was my bank account, and she was just helping me plan how 
to spend it.” 

“Yes,” Pauline assented now — half shyly, but very hon- 
estly happy and grateful. Mrs. Briggs soon appeared ; 
an appointment for the next day was made, the girls decid- 
ing to send in something on their way up town for the dress- 
maker to begin upon. 

After that a very cosy luncheon was enjoyed by the trio, 
and Miss Dearborn seemed scarcely less pleased than Paul- 
ine with the prospect of the new housekeeping arrange- 
ments, admitting that many a night she had lain awake 
wondering what would become of her, in Dorothy’s ab- 
sence, if she felt ill, or “anything” happened. 

“But now. Miss Dearborn,” said Pauline radiantly, 
“ you’ll have Dave and me just to coddle ^mu.” 

If anything could have brought a sense of peace, of con- 
tent and happiness to Dorothy’s mind and heart, it might 
have been the events of such a day ; and after leaving 
Pauline in Thirty-fourth Street, as she drove home, in the 
soft, spring-like twilight, she told herself such was indeed 
the case. Yet the old ache lingered at her heart, and sit- 
ting a little later alone in her own beautiful, luxurious, and 
comfortable room, she pondered long and deeply over the 
various causes in her life which had led up to just the frame 
of mind she feared she would never see altered. It was 
impossible to feel other than she did ; to teach herself 
that it was better as it was ; for in the honest, manly love 
Thorndyke had offered her was the one deep need of her 
really lonely, often isolated young life — protection ; the 
guidance of a clear, earnest nature like his, would be to 
round her own existence, she felt too sorrowfully sure ; 
and that this must be put away from her life, — nay, her 
thoughts, if possible, — emphasized the strangely lonely and 


376 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


often despondent frame of mind which of late had seemed 
so hard to combat. 

“ But at least,” thought the girl, as, going to her secre- 
tary, she sat down to write the line of congratulation to 
Thorndyke which she hoped he would be expecting, “at 
least, as he says, comradeship and kindness remain.” 

It was difficult to steady her pen, or to keep down her 
enthusiasm, as she wrote ; but at last the note was finished 
with some degree of satisfaction, and then Dorothy went 
slowly to her dressing-case, unlocked, and took from it a 
little case in which the heartsease locket had long reposed. 
She was half ashamed, yet half proud and happy, as she 
slipped it once more on to her watch-chain ; surely there 
was no longer any reason why the little trinket should not 
be in the place of honor it had held so long — “ only for re- 
membrance.” 


CHAPTER XLVIIL 


Pauline’s romance. 

The preparations for Pauline’s wedding, the setting up 
housekeeping, etc., absorbed even a large part of the 
Andersons’ time the next few weeks, for one and all were 
interested in seeing the simple, genuine love-story run 
smoothly, in helping on such talent and industry as young 
Brooks certainly displayed ; while all the girls were jmung 
and bright enough to enjoy making ready for a wedding, 
which was not only heartily approved on all sides, — with the 
exception of Mrs. Seaman and her often-quoted George, — 
but to be made as home-like, as simple, but as pretty as 
love and wit, skill and ingenuity, could devise. 

Mrs. Briggs proved not only a good dressmaker, but 
very moderate in her charges, and Dolly and Pauline 
spent a wonderful day shopping, as a result of which a 
pretty seal-brown costume, a turquoise-blue house dress, 
and a really good black silk were purchased and placed in 
Mrs. Briggs’s hands, while fifty dollars went very far 
toward providing two new articles of head-gear — a hat and 
bonnet — a spring wrap, gloves, new umbrella, boots, etc. 
Then came a turning over of her own wardrobe, which 
Dorothy went through one rainy morning, and a good- 
sized box was packed with a variety of articles, which 
Pauline accepted rapturously, perhaps liking them all the 
better because they had originally been designed for 
Dorothy, and even worn by her. 

To furnish the house occasioned a great deal more 
377 


378 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


deliberation, however ; but here the artistic skill and 
resources of all the interested ones were put to the test? 
and it was surprising how much that was really good was 
done with a moderate expenditure. Dolly and Emily spent 
one morning in the attic of the General’s Fifth Avenue 
house, where they unearthed a number of articles, some 
slightly out of repair, others simply in exile ; and as they 
were all good in quality, and some really artistic in design, 
they made a fine show in what they called “Pauline’s 
house.” The General was duly apprised of these depreda- 
tions, but laughingly observed he only hoped they would 
leave him a chair to sit in and a bed to lie down upon. 
“ For I really believe,” he declared to Mrs. Anderson, 
“ Dolly would give away her own.” 

Finally, a really neat, tasteful, and artistic home was 
ready ; reserving a small room downstairs for a general 
parlor or reception room, the two large rooms on the same 
floor had been furnished as a “ suite,” Fraser promising to 
look up a couple of his bachelor friends as lodgers in them. 
Miss Dearborn’s parlor and tiny adjoining chamber were 
just above, and the back rooms arranged for lodgers. The 
girls made and put up the pretty muslin and Madras cur- 
tains ; when the walls of Pauline’s own rooms in the “ sky ” 
were hung with cartridge paper of bluish gray— a dado 
of India matting giving pretty effect — it was a great 
pleasure to add dainty touches here and there, to give the 
simple rooms tlie “ home-like, cheering effect which, as Dolly 
sagely remarked, was so encouraging to a young couple.” 
As for David’s new studio, he was in the seventh heaven 
of delight over possessing one at all ; and what journeys he 
and Pauline made into remote quarters of the city, where a 
few things were ventured upon, “picked up” cheap, wlio 
can relate? Certain it is that all this loving preparation 


PAULINE’S ROMANCE. 


379 


the talks, schemes, devices, to give her a start in life, with 
a husband honestly her heart’s choice— made the girl 
wonderfully happy, but serious ; with a sweet, earnest 
seriousness which bid fair to brush away all the silly little 
cobwebs of her brain ; and no longer laden with garments 
merely purchased for show and style, but dressed to suit 
Dave’s “ artistic eye,” as she liked to declare, Pauline was 
really a very attractive and handsome girl. The profuse 
brown hair was no longer tortured with cither “ water 
waves ” or crimping irons, but brushed softlj^ and loosely 
back from her brow, and revealed good lines which the former 
“ bang ” had concealed ; her eyes were bright and soft in 
her new happiness ; forbidden all cosmetics after Dave had 
made the horrifying discovery once that her rose-bloom 
was artificial, a process of healthy exercise, bathing, and 
good diet had almost restored the original clearness to her 
skin and, for the rest, she had, as we know, pretty 
features and a graceful figure. Altogether, as Dolly 
remarked to Fraser, “results ” were highly satisfactory. 

No one was better pleased or more serenely content than 
Mrs. Molesworth, who spent a great deal of her time taking 
“ solid comfort ” with her old friend Miss Holden, who 
had at last decided, owing to the need of repairs in the 
Greenwich Street house, to bring her belongings and share 
the expenses of the Thirty-fourth Street flat, after Pauline was 
married ; but, with just that touch of irritation against the 
Seamans lingering, Mrs. Molesworth determined they 
should know nothing whatever of the change of plans until 
concealment was impossible, and as by this time Dolly was 
let into all the family councils and secrets, I am afraid 
the idea of Sophy’s discomfiture gave her a little malicious 
satisfaction as well as Mrs. Molesworth and Pauline. 
Myra, Mrs. Porter James, the other married sister, was too 


380 


FOB HONOR’S SAKE, 


keen in her pursuit of anything like a “good time” to hold 
out against Pauline and her mother as the Seamans con- 
tinued to do, and she made frequent visits to Thirty-fourth 
Street, even going the length of bringing her sister one or 
two useful presents, and promising a china tete-a-tete 
for something to “ show.” Other presents came in mod- 
erate numbers, but then, as Pauline said, how few of her 
old “ friends ” had she “ kept up ” with, and what signified 
whether she had any display of the conventional kind or 
not, when she was marrying with so many real friends to 
help her and wish her well. 

At last all was as nearly ready as it could be until the 
very final hours had come. A nice, middle-aged woman 
was installed in the kitchen of the Tenth Street house, 
where three lodgers were to come in the week following ; 
the girls spent a long, merry, busy afternoon at the place, 
putting last touches, for the newly married pair were to go 
directly from Mrs. Molesworth’s to their pretty home ; then 
Dorothy bade the Andersons good-by, turning her steps 
in the direction of the Molesworths’, where she had agreed 
to stay all night with Pauline and her mother, to give the 
last friendly services and be on hand early in the morning. 

A simple little “ breakfast ” had been prepared. Dolly and 
Pauline themselves had made the cake and the jellies, and 
the faithful Ann was in high glee over the prospect of a 
wedding, and outdid herself in roasting chickens and pre- 
paring to fry oysters. The wedding ceremony was to take 
place at twelve o’clock ; then would follow the collation, and 
afterward, Pauline and Dave, with all good wishes, would 
start off on their life’s journey together. 

Dolly, as she sat with Pauline and her mother in the little 
parlor, which showed signs of to-morrow’s event already in 
tlie open trunks and pretty litter of last things to be packed, 


PAULINE'S ROMANCE. 


381 


could not help contrasting this quiet wedding, this simple, 
happy love-story, with that other which she had seen enacted 
recently in her little world ; and she took her first chance 
to read a letter just received from Fred Marston, in Mexico. 
While Pauline and her mother were engaged over some of 
the packing, Dollj’- slipped into the dining-room and re-read 
the brief, but, to her, important note which Fred had judi- 
ciously enclosed in a longer one to be shown the family. “ I 
am worried by a letter I received yesterday from Mrs. Leon- 
ard,” he wrote ; “I feel sure she regrets having given me 
to understand she would not leave Mallowfield. I think it 
would be wise for you to slip up there and make sure she is to 
be a fixture, any way until I can get back. She knows the 
papers are in your possession, and of your interest in the af- 
fair; so such a call, even if it annoyed,would not surprise her.” 

Dorothy pondered over this communication anxiously. 
Although more at rest about the whole matter, she had 
never lost sight of its importance, and had only quieted 
Mrs. Hildreth by telling her she had “ got the papers,” and 
that all could be ari-anged, Mrs. Leonard promised, in April. 
But the last fortnight, Mrs. Hildreth had been far from 
well. She had written Dolly, begging her to come and see 
her as soon as possible, and this the girl determined to do 
directly after Pauline’s wedding and the Yandeveers’ ball, 
which she was pledged to attend the following Thursday. 
This last engagement made her pulses throb a little faster 
now when she thought of it, for Thorndyke was expected 
from Washington that day, and would certainly attend the 
party, and it would be their first meeting since the day he 
had parted from her so sadly at The Glen. How would 
they take up the old threads ? How begin that life of mat- 
ter-of-fact friendship in which “kindness” was to be the 
apparent and strongest sentiment ? 


CHAPTER XLIX. 


DOLLY DANCES A MINUET. 

Dorothy was standing before the cheval-glass in her 
dainty dressing-room, a flood of gaslight shining upon her 
face and figure, while Jane put the finishing touches to her 
costume for the great event of the season, Mrs. Vande- 
veer’s ball. The dress, by the General’s special request, 
had been as gorgeous a one as Dolly’s fine good taste 
would allow — a white iulle over white silk, with wonderful 
arabesques of gold thread, and trimmings, where they could 
be laid on, of softest white ostrich feathers. The rounded 
neck, showed her pretty girlish throat and the graceful 
poise of her head, twined with the flat-lying plumage ; 
her fan was a mass of the same, hung by a gold chain 
from her belt, and on the dressing-table at her side lay 
one of the General’s birthday gifts, — this being that happy 
anniversary, — a colette band and bracelets of topaz, shining 
in their settings of tiny but dazzling brilliants. 

Excitement, perhaps the thought of meeting Thorndyke, 
who was certainly to be present, lent an unusual glow to 
Dolly’s cheeks, which had been rather pale of late ; while 
her gray eyes were sparkling and brilliant thoughts, ideas, 
conjectures, flitting through her mind, bringing a smile to 
her lips ; while Jane moved about, shaking the folds of the 
lovely dress out carefully, giving a little “ fluff” to the feath- 
ers on the hem and at the sides, finally drawing back to view 
the whole effect with the most flattering air of admiration 
her eyes, lips, clasped hands, whole manner, could express. 


DOLLY DANCES A MINUET. 


383 


“ Oh, Miss Dorothy, it’s just perfect! ” declared Jane, in 
ecstasy. “I never saw j^ou look so lovely, miss. Oh, 
coukhiH \\iQ girls come up and look at it? I was telling 
them about it after we were at Madame’s yesterday.” 

“ Certainly,” smiled Dolly ; and while Jane flew off, she 
clasped the shining yellow jewels on her neck and arms, 
and gazed once more at herself in the glass, but with just 
a faint sigh as she wondered how, shorn of all this gran- 
deur, she herself, plain “ Dolly Kent from Johnsburg,” as 
Mrs. Seaman had remarked, would be received in the set 
she was going among to-night ! 

The servants’ enthusiastic but deferentially expressed ad- 
miration pleased Dolly greatly. To their great satisfac- 
tion she moved about under the blaze of gaslight to give 
them every point of view, and then, followed by Jane, with 
a cloak of white plush edged with swans’-down, swept away 
down to the drawing-room to wait for the sound of tlie 
Andersons’ carriage. She and Emmie were to go in the 
General’s brougham, Sybil and her mother in the Doctor’s, 
but all to start together. 

Dolly was waiting patiently, the clock on the mantel 
pointing to half-past nine, when there came the sound of 
the General’s study-door opening and closing again, and 
Simms appeared to say his master wished to see her for a 
moment. 

Dorothy went along the hall quickly. She had expected 
to display her finery to her guardian in the lights of the 
long drawing-room, but concluded he preferred her coming 
to the study, so she made her way, smiling and blushing, as 
she opened the door and stood, as radiant a vision of girlish 
loveliness before the old soldier as he had ever wished to 
see. 

He was standing by the fire, and, as Dolly entered, lifted 


384 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


a pale, anxious face to his ward’s. He held an open letter 
in his hand, and his fingers trembled, Dolly saw at once ; 
but beyond this token of agitation was a look on his face 
the girl had never seen before — how had she known in- 
stinctively, that she should dread it ? How was it that as 
she stood there, resting one of her slim white hands, with 
their blazing jewels, on the back of a chair, her heart beat- 
ing anxiously, she was suddenly aware that she had all 
along feared some day to quail before just such a piercing, 
cold glance from her guardian’s eyes. 

Just for an instant he allowed his gaze to rest with deep 
satisfaction on the girl he called his daughter, in the lovely 
ball dress, with its gleaming golden threads ; the jewels 
sparkling on her fair neck and arms — but the steely look 
came back. He drew a long, deep breath and said gravely : 

“ Dorothy, some disclosures have been made me which 
are most distressing. But I can 07ily hope you will give 
me a satisfactory explanation.” 

The room seemed 40 whirl wildly about Dolly as she 
stood there, every word her guardian uttered falling like 
an ice-bolt on her heart. She gazed at him with fixed, 
dilated eyes, but did not speak. 

“ I prefer,” said the General, in the same chilling tone, 
‘‘ that you should say nothing 7iow. You must go to tliis 
ball. To-morrow morning come to me here directly after 
your breakfast. You best know if I have cause for com- 
plaint. No ” as Dolly made a movement, a gesture, 

and would have spoken. “ Not a word, my child, now. 
Tliere ! Mrs. Anderson must not be kept waiting. Go ! I 
only wished to prepare you, that you might be ready to tell 
me the truth — the absolute, entwe truth.” 

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. He had him- 
self silenced her, and Dorothy, feeling as though all her 


DOLLY DANCES A MINUET. 


385 


world was changed and darkened, almost groped her way 
from the room ; and indeed it seemed to the girl as though 
she did not recover her full consciousness till she found 
herself one of a tide of human beings surging down the 
great staircase leading from the dressing-rooms to Mrs. 
Vandeveer’s magnificent and brilliant drawing-rooms, where 
the glow of countless wax lights seemed to mingle with the 
perfume of a thousand flowers, and “ all the world,” in brave 
attire, lent animation and picturesqueness to a dazzling 
scene. 

More than one person looked up with quick admiration, 
and ready homage to offer, as Mrs. Anderson’s party were 
seen making their way to where the hostess and her daugh- 
ter stoodv to receive their guests, for not only were Emily 
and Sybil decidedly popular, but this radiant, queenly look- 
ing girl in the exquisite toilette of white and gold, with the 
jewels flashing on her white throat and soft, round young 
arms, had long since been acknowledged as one of the 
belles of the season, having claims no one could dispute, 
even apart from the fact that she was unquestionably the 
General’s heiress ; and no sooner had she entered the ball- 
room at her chaperone’s side than she was eagerly sur- 
rounded, and her card for the square dances — all that Dolly 
ever had to bestow — nearly filled. But, even while she 
answered greetings, smiled, gazed about, was conscious in a 
vague way of the little court about her, Dorothy could not 
lose the numb, dazed feeling with which she had driven to 
the ball, could not put from her the remembrance of her 
guardian’s stern, cold face ; his keen, piercing glance ; his 
voice, so unlike the indulgent tones used to her before, 
stern and repulsing, as he had said : “ You best hnoio 

if I have cause for complaint?'^ And all through 
the first dance Dolly kept telling herself she did know ; 

25 


386 


FOR HONORS SAKE. 


that on the morrow her trial, her ordeal would begin ; 
and the one thing at last she began to hope and long 
for was Thorndyke’s presence. In some way the girl felt 
as if even the sight of that tall, well-built figure, the spare, 
grave face and deep, flashing eyes, would bring strength 
and comfort, if not actual assistance, to her in her misery. 

She had danced rather unflaggingly for nearly an hour, 
anxious to keep up movement and avoid the burden of too 
much conversation, and also ready to spend her favors 
liberally enough to secure freedom for a time when Thorn- 
dyke should appear, and was at last “ sitting out ” one of 
the waltzes in a little ante-room, converted into an Eastern 
salon for the time being, with low, cushioned divans, softly 
veiled lamps, Moorish or Turkish hangings, and a general 
atmosphere, artfully introduced, of attar of roses, delicate, 
but distinct, and which in some way Dorothy ever after- 
ward associated with that, as she came to call it, last night 
of the old life — at least it was to be the last, for many a long 
day, containing the elements of happiness, of prosperity, 
which the girl was to know. Sitting there in the mild but 
picturesque radiance of the crimson lanterns, the glow, soft, 
but penetrating, falling all about her, she looked, in her 
white lace gown, with its glittering gold threads, with the 
soft yellow blaze of light on her neck and arms, like some 
strangely beautiful, unreal picture, and Thorndyke, who 
had paused in a doorway lower down the hall to look for 
her, stood still for an instant, thoroughly enjoying the ef- 
fect she produced. He had never seen her half so lovel}^ — 
and a feeling half of pride, half of despair leaped up in his 
heart, sending the blood coursing through his veins as he 
gazed at this fair picture and knew she had bidden him come 
no nearer ! And then, suddenly, Dorothy, who had been 
“ making conversation ” with difficulty with her last part- 


DOLLY DANCES A MINUET. 


387 


ner, turned her head and their eyes met ; and if a moment 
before it had occurred to Thorndyke, that fair as the girl 
looked, there was a delicacy, a new pallor in her face, he 
saw nothing of it now. All unconsciously, a quick light 
shone in her gray eyes, a pink color flooded her face from 
brow to chin, ebbing faintly away as Thorndyke liurried 
forward, his pulses tingling with happiness, not only in their 
meeting again, but in the look he had surprised Dorothy 
into flashing upon him. 

The young German attache bowed himself off, and there 
was Thorndyke actually at her side, looking his usual cool, 
deliberate self, evidently content to survey her for a 
moment critically in silence, while Dolly found it very 
hard at first to speak. 

“ You don’t know how dreadfully vain-glorious we all 
are,” she said, at length, and with a smile, meant to be very 
bright, yet on the whole rather wistful. “ We are so proud 
of you ! Your speech has been read aloud, and read to 
ourselves, and talked over — and, well, I can’t half prepare 
you for the lionizing you’ll get among us.” 

Thorndyke laughed. 

“ This is very comforting,” he observed. “ Do you 
know, I felt as if it was all a lamentable failure. But 
Dolly,” he broke olf suddenly, ‘‘ I mustn’t let you sit out 
the minuet ; come, let us try it, unless your card is full.” 

But Dolly had purposely reserved that very space vacant, 
for how often, under Ilerr Trauwig’s direction, had not she 
and Alfred, the winter in New York before she was “out,” 
danced the pretty, graceful, dignified dance together, and 
now it occurred to the girl, with a queer, strained feeling at 
her heart, that, perhaps, if everything was to come to an 
end, if her happy days were indeed to be over when she 
went to the General’s study in the morning, why not at 


388 


FOB HONOR'S SAKE, 


least have that one dance with her “ comrade ” before she 
told him of the General’s discovery ? 

So they took their places, and a number of people whis- 
pered to each other to watch the pair, ‘‘Two of the most 
X>erfect dancers — orily Miss Kent never waltzes,” some one 
said of Dorothy, who in her lovely gown and her shining 
jewels, treading the steps of the dainty, stately measure, 
was a picture no one who ever saw it that evening ever 
could forget. But no one, not even Alfred, who looked at 
her, trying to keep his heart out of his eyes, could have 
guessed that while she smiled, while she raised her hand 
with slow and careless grace, and swayed in perfect rhythm 
to the “ Don Giovanni ” music, that this girl was saying to 
herself, from some queer, undefined premonition, “ For tlie 
last time, the last time”; and when she looked up with tlie 
arch, sweet glance at her partner, so captivating in its per- 
fect freedom from affectation, its childlike sweetness, there 
was a feeling like a “good-by” to something of her childlike 
happiness and hope in the very strokes of her sadly beating 
heart. 

But it was over. The musicians drifted from the minuet 
music into the strains of something popular enough to have 
been revived that season — the timeworn but fascinating 
“Trovatore” — and Dolly, who was certainly, Alfred decided, 
looking paler than she should, certainly than he had ever 
seen her, suggested their going back to the little Moorish 
room, where only two or three couples were to be seen. 

“ It has come,” she said, almost immediately. She had 
had her dance, now she must begin to prepare for her 
ordeal. 

“What?” demanded Alfred, inclined to smile at first, 
but almost at once aware that something serious lay back of 
the girl’s words, perhaps accounting for her altered looks. 


DOLLY DANCES A MINUET. 


389 


“ What 3^ou dreaded,” said Dolly quickly, and lifting her 
eyes from the white fan she had been turning about slowly 
in her hands. ‘‘ The General knows I have been doing 
something I did not wish him to find out.” 

And briefly but accurately, and with precisely the right 
interpretation of what it meant, Dorothy related what 
had passed that evening between her guardian and her- 
self. 

Alfred was positively dismayed. He knew, what of 
course Dorothy did not, that the General had drawn up — 
or rather caused him to draw up — a will leaving her, with 
the exception of a few legacies, his sole heiress, and that 
for some unaccountable reason it never had been signed. 
More than that, Alfred had, by appointment, called at the 
General’s house before coming here ; had found him, evi- 
dently, very much disturbed, and with the valueless will 
spread out on the table before him. And this was but one 
side to the question, for Thorndyke’s nature was far too 
finely strung not to be aware — as Dolly was herself — that 
she owed her guardian absolute frankness, above all, in 
business transactions, since she knew his peculiarity in re- 
gard to such being carried on surreptitiously. 

“ You see,” Dolly went on, in a low, hurried tone, while a 
dozen hideous possibilities for the girl, as a result of all this, 
chased themselves through Thorndyke’s brain. “ I see now 
I was wrong to have pledged my word. But I cannot ex- 
plain it, yet, any way ; my word, my solemn word of honor 
has been given.” 

She dared not add that Mrs. Hildreth had, the last time 
they met, made her renew her promise not to hint this to 
the General, at least until she should have seen and talked 
to Mrs. Leonard and “Addy.” Were she to break her 
word now, there would be no leading the widow into 


390 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


“ green pastures,” these last torturing days of her mis- 
taken, fast-ebbing life. 

“ And do you mean to say,” exclaimed Alfred, “ that no 
matter hoio it affects him, Dorothy — what demands, condi- 
tions he makes — you cannot in ani/ way satisfy him ? ” 

She passed her hand wearily across her brow, and tried 
for an instant to think. 

“ No,” she said slowly, ‘‘ I donH see what I could say — I 
must think, think, and pray about it to-night. Oh, I was 
so glad to see you,” she added, turning her eyes with sad 
intensity upon his face. ‘‘I knew of course you couldn’t 
suggest anything, for I couldn’t tell you anything, but 
there was a comfort in feeling you were here.” 

Thorndyke, with an effort, kept down the impulse which 
well-nigh mastered him to take the hands she had clasped 
on the great white fan in his, and beg of her to give him 
the right to help all her life, and perhaps, Dorothy, feeling 
as keenly as she did herself how miserable it was to have 
any barrier between them, read his unspoken thought in 
the look he bent suddenly upon her, for she rose and smiled 
faintly : 

“ The air is fairly laden with Persian attar, is it not ? ” 
she said. “Any way, Alfred, I ought not to keep you 
here ! I know Sybil is counting on some dances with you. 
She says no partner ever suits her step as well as yours, 
and from Sybil that is a compliment.” 

But Thorndyke insisted on prolonging the conversation, 
urging Dorothy to try and think of a way to appease her 
guardian, finally making her promise to let him know as 
early as possible on the next day the result of the all-im- 
portant interview. 

How the remainder of the evening passed, Dorothy later 
could scarcely have told ; but like all days and evenings, all 


DOLLY DANCES A MINUET. 


391 


hours of one’s life, whether in joy or sorrow, exultation or 
despair, it spent itself ; and at last Dolly was driving home 
opposite Emily Anderson in the pale, gray light of the 
morning, and was soon in her own room, where, divesting 
herself of her gorgeous ball dress, and carefully replacing 
the jewels in their cases, she put on a dressing-gown of 
warm, blue cashmere, and sat down to think out, if pos- 
sible, some way of keeping her word on all sides, and yet 
convincing her guardian that no desire for independence, 
and, beyond that, no wilful deceit cowZc? stand between them. 

But how ? Mrs. Hildreth, a dying, conscience-stricken 
woman, had told her that were the General to guess her 
wretched secret, until she could at least see Mrs. Leonard, 
all would be misery ; and, what Dolly dreaded most, she 
could not freely tell him the story — ask his pardon. 
And to tell now of Fred’s troubles, in his absence, would be 
not only to break her word, but to ruin him forever with his 
patron. Dorothy hoped, had always hoped, that on his re- 
turn, Fred would, of himself, go to the old soldier, and 
frankly tell him the whole story ; but as it was, honor 
bound her on all sides ; closed her lips, left her for the 
present, it would seem, cruelly defenceless — shut out even 
from counsel such as she longed to ask and take from 
Thorndyke’s lips ! 

The faint gray of the spring morning had deepened 
into pink, and daylight fell in pale blue lights on the silent 
city, while Dorothy, still feverishly wakeful and anxious, 
sat in the window of her dressing-room, no nearer a solu- 
tion of her difficulty than when, in the rose-lighted room 
at the Vandeveers, she had looked mournfully at Thorndyke, 
to read only dismay and deep anxiety in his eagerly watch- 
ful face. But the prayers which she had from time to time 
bowed her head humbly to offer for guidance and lights 


392 


FOR HONORS S SAKE. 


wete soothing and gave comfort. At least, she knew that 
consciously she had done no wrong. Her motives had 
been the best — her actions generous. Yet I doubt if, 
after that night’s vigil, Dorothy ever had the same alert, 
bright confidence in herself, where the affairs of others 
were concerned, which had been an inexplicable trait in a 
nature singularly humble and hard to please where only 
she herself was in question. 


CHAPTER L. 


“ I CANNOT EXPLAIN ! ” 

It was impossible for Dolly to deny to Mrs. Hale, at the 
breakfast table next morning, that her head ached badly, 
for her cheeks were startlingly white ; and, while her eyes 
were feverishly bright, the purplish rings about them 
proclaiming her night’s vigil, still the ball might account 
for it all ; and after promising to rest, in case she did not 
feel better later, Dorothy made her escape, going directly 
to her guardian’s study, almost fearing that if she delayed 
a moment longer her courage would give out. 

He had breakfasted there, as he frequently did when his 
foot troubled him, and he was alone, evidently waiting for 
Dolly to fulfil her engagement ; and as she went into the 
room, it seemed to the girl that everything was in a queer 
mist but his cold, stern face, the lines and muscles of which 
seemed even more fixedly rigid than the night before ; 
almost as though each passing hour of reflection over his 
ward’s conduct had deepened and hardened them, until 
never again would the old look of loving indulgence soften 
and brighten the face which was dearer to her than he 
would ever guess. 

But, in truth, the night had been a cruelly anxious one to 
the old man. Because he had placed such boundless faith 
in this girl — just in proportion to his lavish indulgence of 
her every whim, every wish, he suffered now keenly, be- 
lieving himself tricked or deceived. The question of a few 
hundreds of thousands, to pass from his hands to hers, 


394 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


would have meant almost nothing to the old man ; but 
subterfuge, evasion, acting without his counsel in a trifling 
matter even, shook his faitli, and with it his pride and joy in 
“ his girl,” to their very foundations ! If only., even now, she 
would tell him all— explain everything — how gladly would 
he not set her right in the wildest business “ investment,” 
and give her, if she craved it, an independent income of 
her own. 

“ Sit down, Dorothy,” he said gravely ; ‘‘ I hope there 
will not be much to say — but it may be I shall have to hear 
a long story.” 

Dolly was only conscious of the dark eyes of her 
guardian — eyes that looked very black in his ivory-tinted 
face, now ; of the slow, measured accents of his voice, the 
objects around her, his words, indeed, seemed to mean 
nothing to her strained senses. But she did as she was 
bid, seating herself in the little chair at the other side of 
the fireplace, which she always used during their confer- 
ences ; which, indeed, the General had bought especially for 
that purpose, and was always called hers by mutual under- 
standing. She said nothing, but her eyes never wavered 
from his face while he continued : 

“ I had in mind a certain purchase — a piece of ground 
near the Homestead, particularly desirable for the property ; 
and, while negotiating for it, learned from your tenant that 
the rent was, so to speak, mortgaged ; that, in fact, you had 
raised a loan of ten thousand dollars, all by yourself, 
giving this as security. To verify the statement I called 
upon the — your debtor ; an insufferable little man,” — even 
in her misery a thought of Mr. Noblet’s way of wagging 
his head and shutting his wide mouth flashed back for a 
brief instant, — “who absolutely refused to give me the 


“ / CANNOT EXPLAIN! 


395 


slightest information, but assured me you had made him 
promise not to let me know anything on the subject ! ” 

The General paused a moment, overcome by the enor- 
mity of the offence, and perhaps half hoping the pale, 
motionless girl before him would speak — would rush into 
an explanation and clear up this painful matter, even if it 
cost him thousands. But, agonized as she felt, Dorothy 
could not find a word to utter, and her guardian con- 
tinued : 

“ At the same time, or nearly the same time, I learned 
by a means I despise — an anonymous letter — that you had 
gone to Beckport in December to transact business with 
Peter Baker — the man who would have ruined your 
father ; and later received this note, sent me, doubtless, by 
the same kind and disinterested friend.” 

He handed her, in silence, the note she had written for 
Mrs. Hildreth long ago, simply asking Baker what his price 
for the papers she desired would be. 

Dolly felt as if every drop of blood in her veins was 
slowly turning to ice as she read the letter — so innocent, 
so generous in its intent, but which she saw now pointed 
clearly but to one thing — that for her own purposes she was 
negotiating with the swindling old man for some docu- 
ments of value or importance to herself. 

“ I see you cannot deny your own handwriting,” the 
General resumed, with a deep, painful sigh, while a 
tremulousness in his voice betrayed how intensely disap- 
pointed he was beginning to feel ; how sharply the hurt of 
what he believed carefully planned duplicity on Dolly’s 
part was cutting him. 

“ But now I will ask you to explain from first to last 
truthfully N A bitter emphasis on the word sent a faint color 


396 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. ] 


into Dolly’s white cheeks, “this whole miserable affair. 
Putting two and two together I conclude you rjiised the 
money in this secret fashion to bribe Baker for what per- 
haps he would not sell.” 

A slight sarcastic smile flitted across his face, the first 
look save of kindness which had ever been directed 
thence to the girl who would have died rather than betray 
his trust, misuse his generous confidence. 

Twice Dorothy essayed to speak ! The words would not 
come ; but some answer was imperative ! The silence was 
becoming intolerable. In a dull way she was conscious 
that rain had begun to fall ; was lashing the window 
panes behind her chair ; but she could neither move nor 
speak, until a frown, gathering on her guardian’s brow, 
startled her and she said, in a voice utterly unlike her own, 
out of which all the life and youth seemed to have gone: 

“ I explain ! Not — anyway. Can you not 

— will you not — for the sake of — will you not trust me ? ” 

She had risen to her feet and, trembling from head to foot, 
her sweet young face ashy pale, her eyes heavy with unshed, 
burning tears, stood before him, compelled to rest one hand 
on the table near her. 

The silence seemed to Dorothy, when these broken sen- 
tences had fallen from her lips, to stretch on endlessly, and 
only later she realized with what acute misery to herself ; 
at that moment all feeling seemed concentrated in the long- 
ing, which had seized her from the first, to hasten to Mrs. 
Hildreth and beg of her to help her in some way to re- 
lieve her guardian’s mind — for singular to say, miserably as 
she was suffering under the sense of being in disgrace with 
one who had treated her and hers with such noble liberality, 
such boundless trust, Dorothy’s dominant feeling was horror 
at causing him personally to suffer, as she knew keenly he 


Dolt.y cannot I'.X plain. 















■..gy l Jri^ 

' I 'v ‘w&t 
*' 

■ !■ ■■' -uASi^i 

Mb inti: 









“ / CANNOT EXPLAIN! 


397 


must be at that very moment. With her characteristic swift 
sympathy she was almost^ conscious of the pain in every 
heart-beat, whose strokes, alas ! were daily telling their story 
of a long, sad life drawing to its close ; and had she dared, 
Dorotliy would have flung herself upon her knees, all com- 
passion, all tenderness ; begged him to give her just the 
three weeks needed until April and Fred Marston’s return. 

But, instead, she only stood there, self-convicted ; her 
pallor, broken voice, her very silence, so many points against 
her ; and the General, after gazing at her speechlessly a mo- 
ment, turned his face away. 

“You may leave me,” he said ‘huskily. “Ko, 
trust you.” He looked at her once again, the dark eyes 
inexpressibly, pitifully mournful beneath the white brows. 
“ I do not trust you. I believe I never will again. Perhaps 
you cannot help it. Deceit and subterfuge is in some 
people’s very veins ! I have suffered from it more than 
once ; and fi’om one of your own name and kindred as — I 
should have remembered.''^' 

The blood — a flush of shame, indignation, misery, and 
self-reproach — ^i-ushed like a crimson tide, covering brow 
and cheeks, even the soft white throat, for an instant, as 
Dorothy stood there and received her sentence. For an in- 
stant the words to right herself surged to her lips, but in 
the same moment the picture of a worn, haggard face — the 
thought of that soul seeking to be free of its burden before 
the last call came — rose to shut out all else, and scarcely 
knowing how she groped her way toward the door, Doro- 
thy made her way slowly from the room, and like a person 
in a dreadful, choking dream, mounted the stairs, and, 
reaching her own chamber, flung herself upon her knees be- 
fore her couch, and, stretching out her arms, bowed her head 
miserably upon them, bursting into an agony of tears. 


398 


FOR nONOll'S SAKE. 


At first only the shame, the wretchedness, the apparent 
baseness of it all, the ingratitude toiler guardian, prompted 
the passionate weeping which came from Dolly’s heart and 
shook her whole frame ; but then the thought of her lone- 
liness, in this cruel moment, brought the tears afresh, and 
she murmured, “ Oh, mother.^ mother,” brokenly, while she 
tried to pray, and then to think. 

Something she must do at once. Some steps must be 
taken. Dorothy rose at last, bathed her burning eyes, and 
sat down in the storm-lashed windows to try and piece out 
the puzzle — come to some decision. How long she sat thus 
she could never tell; but* at last a resolution was taken, and 
Dorothy felt as if she would stifle if it could not be carried 
out. 

She would go to Mrs. Hildreth’s, hear from her lips, if 
possible, whole story, giving her the reasons for prompt 
action ; then she would seek Mrs. Leonard and Addy and 
strive to right thus far the wrong of which her guardian 
believed her guilty. 

But Dorothy shrank from undertaking a journey such as 
she might have to take to find the Leonards, alone. The 
point was, who could go with her, ask no questions, and 
keep a confidence. Only one person occurred to the girl’s 
mind as a suitable companion, and that was her cousin 
Priscilla Dearborn. Dorothy rose to her feet quickly once 
this decision was made. This would be her last uncoun- 
selled action, but she would go without telling any one, 
leaving a letter behind for her guardian to receive later in 
the day. And after a moment’s deliberation she seated 
herself and wrote as follows : 

Dear Cousin and Guardian : 

My heart aches so I can scarcely tliink of words to use in which to 


“7 CANNOT EXPLAIN! 


399 


tell you I am going away for a few days, or as long as it will take me, 
to find a person who may put all this miserable matter right in your 
eyes. Solemnly I protest I never wronged you except, perhaps, by a 
too thoughtless promise, and I never meant to betray your generous 
confidence. Please let every one think I am away on business, and 
do not think more hardly of me than you can help until I come 
back. I will not come until the object of my search is attained. I 
have money enough for all my needs, and I will have a prudent com- 
panion, so do not worry about me. I beg you from my heart to for- 
give the pain I have most unwittingly caused you, and remember I 
thank you a thousand times, and love you more than I can say for 
your goodness to me and mine. 

Your sorrowful 

Dolly. 

This letter written, sealed, and addressed, Dorothy set 
herself to the packing of a small satchel, fearing, for some 
reason, her search might be prolonged ; and then she 
counted her money in hand. There were two checks for 
small sums and forty dollars in cash ; enough, she was 
sure, for all needful expenses, even if the journey occupied 
a week. 

A strange, miserable feeling crept over her as she went 
quietly down the stairs, leaving the letter for the General 
in full view on the hall table, opening and shutting the 
front door with as little noise as possible. 

The rain was pouring down mercilessly. The houses 
opposite, the pavements, were dripping, the sky an angry 
leaden, and Dorothy lingered on the steps as she opened 
her umbrella, a queer little smile curving her lips. Was 
this the dazzlingly arrayed girl who had gone forth last 
niglit to that brilliant ball ; who had danced the minuet 
under a hundred wax-lights ; who had rested on the 
Turkish divans, and breathed in attar of roses ! This girl, 
accused of deceit, trickery, by her guardian, and who was 


400 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


setting forth alone, on a vague journey, perhaps, Dolly told 
herself sadly, never to return again as the young mistress, 
the petted darling of the happy house. 

Tears welled up to poor Dolly’s eyes, but she went 
bravely ahead. This was her only hope — this step the 
only one, she felt sure, to be taken. 


CHAPTER LI. 


IN SALSTON. 

The full warmth of a March day, touched with spring- 
time promise, — one of those days which come unawares, 
like an early note of some adventurous robin, — was at its 
perfection, and Salston, a little country village in Connec- 
ticut, woke up gladly to its cheering influence after a week 
of almost incessant rain. It was a dull, rather dreary little 
place ; dominated, deprived of any chance of picturesque- 
ness by an ugly mill which occupied one end of the 
main street, effectually shutting out the bit of pretty land- 
scape to be seen beyond ; and as though discouraged by 
this fact, the houses bordering the street in question made 
no pretence to grace in design ; but they were cleanly, 
thrifty-looking little frame dwellings for the most part, with 
something of a “ door yard,” in which, no doubt, flowers 
would soon show their early bravery, while midway in the 
village thoroughfare stood a small hotel, of respectable, 
but dingy appearance, in the sitting-room window of 
which, on this late March afternoon, Dorothy Kent stood 
gazing silently, thoughtfully, ahead of her. 

It was just four days since she had left her guardian’s 
house in that sudden, unceremonious, and, as she still felt, 
desolate fashion — days that might have been weeks to the 
girl, she reflected, if time were indeed- to be counted by 
heart-throbs, since so much had been crowded, forced into 
them. 

Of course Miss Dearborn, although profoundly disturbed 

401 


26 


402 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


by a thought of any “ misunderstanding ” with Dorothy’s 
guardian, had agreed to accompany her on this mysterious 
journey, arranging as speedily as possible to have her 
pupils put off one lesson each, which would give her nearly 
a week for Dolly’s service. They had gone at once to Mrs. 
Hildreth’s — at least, leaving her companion at the village 
hotel, Dolly had proceeded directly to the cottage, whence 
two hours later she returned pale, trembling, and nervously 
depressed. But, after listening to every word of Mrs. 
Hildreth’s story with sad eagerness, Dolly was only more 
than ever convinced that the search must go on at once. 
Now, indeed, it appeared to her that the only real solution 
of the difficulty lay in finding Mrs. Leonard and “Addy.” 

Late as it was, Dolly and Miss Dearborn had started at 
once for Beckport, and by six o’clock in the evening were 
driving along the village street of Mallowfield in the di- 
rection of the cottage where they had been told the Leon- 
ards lived. But here disappointment of a startling kind 
had faced them. A week ago the mother and daughter, 
so a neighbor told them, had locked up the house and gone 
away — where, no one knew; but as they took trunks with 
them they must have intended absenting themselves some 
time. 

Early the next morning Dorothy went back to cross- 
question the woman who had given them this information, 
and was rewarded by learning that a light-haired, freckled 
country girl had come to see them the day before their un- 
ceremonious departure ; and she. Miss Hinton, was sure this 
girl’s name, when Dolly suggested it, was Evvy.” She 
had an “ Eva ” of her own, and accordingly had taken 
particular notice of what this girl was called. As to the 
Leonards themselves, Mrs. Hinton could say very little. 
She had only the merest speaking acquaintance with them. 


IN SALSTON. 


403 


They seldom went anywhere except to church, and never 
seemed to have any visitors. The daughter was very deli- 
cate. 

Dolly retraced her steps to the little hotel where they 
had spent the night, down-hearted over this first failure, 
yet somewhat encouraged to think Evvy Baker was accessi- 
ble, and certainly knew something of the whereabouts of 
this elusive pair, who seemed to have their own reasons — 
which could not be mercenary ones, Dolly knew — for keep- 
ing in seclusion, if not actual hiding. How to reach Evvy 
was the next question, and it had ended in Dolly’s leaving 
Miss Dearborn and taking a flying trip to Beecham, a little 
station north of Johnsburg, whence she drove boldly to old 
Baker’s house, determined, if necessary, to brave him and 
force from him any knowledge of the Leonards’ whereabouts 
he might possess. 

But here a good fortune favored her. Baker was away. 
Evvy was alone in the tumble-down little house, and 
Dorothy went right to the point, assuming that of course 
the girl could give her the needed information. Poor 
Evvy turned first pale, then red, under her freckles. 

“Oh, Miss Kent, I dassent she whispered. “ Uncle’d 
just about hill me ! ” 

“ No, Evvy — no, he won’t ! ” exclaimed Dorothy. “ I’ll see 
to that. You need not be afraid of him ! Come, Evvy, do 
as I ask you, and V\\ promise to take you away from here 
— to get you good work and wages among kind friends.” 

Evvy’s whole face brightened ! For two years this had 
been her dream ! her vain but ever-present longing, to 
escape from the miserable life, half-starved, often beaten, 
always ill-treated as she was ; and yet with that peculiar 
fear which the oppressed often have of the oppressor, no 
matter with how little reason, the girl had never dared to 


404 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


assert the independence which certainly was her right — and 
then this Miss Kent, the old Squire’s daughter, had been 
long ago so good, so kind ! Furthermore, escape anight 
mean freedom to be with Addy ! 

“ Will ye, really? ” said Evvy, trembling and eager. 

“ Of course ! ” was Dolly’s prompt answer. 

“ And maybe I can stay with Addy Leonard a while,” 
the girl continued. 

“ I don’t doubt you can,” said Dolly, seizing a new ad- 
vantage. ‘‘Are you fond of her, Evvy ?” 

Evvy nodded her head decisively. 

“ Yes’m. She’s awful good with me. Mis’ Leonard says.” 

“ Well, then, Evvy, if you’ll tell me where to find them I 
will urge Mrs. Leonard to send for you ; and now, before I 
go. I’ll leave you money for your journey. How did it hap- 
pen you went to see them in Beckport ? ” 

“ Uncle sent me,” said the girl. “ I had a parcel for 
Mis’ Leonard.” 

And so the upshot of the visit was that Evvy, as she had 
once before for Fred Marston, produced a scrap of paper on 
which Mrs. Leonard’s present address was carefully written 
down : “ Care of Mrs. BeaJce, Salston, Conn.^^ And Dolly 
went away, leaving five dollars with Baker’s long-suffering 
niece, and solemnly promising to send or come for her at 
an early date. 

Salston was a three hours’ journey from Mallowfield, 
where Miss Dearborn was anxiously awaiting her young 
cousin’s return. And early the next morning — the day on 
which Dolly stood in the hotel window, as I have men- 
tioned — the travellers had set out, arriving in the dull little 
factory town shortly before noon. 

Dorothy, whose knowledge of hotels and travelling was 
almost entirely European, had rather surprised the indo- 


m SALSTOH. 


405 


lent, good-humored proprietor of the ‘‘Salston House” by 
asking for a “ private sitting-room and two bedrooms close 
by.” 

“ Guess the elderly little lady’s sick,” he remarked to his 
wife, when he consulted her as to the practicability of turn- 
ing their own parlor into a “ private sitting-room,” and ask- 
ing an extra dollar a day for it ; but very soon Dorothy and 
her cousin were installed in the gayly furnished front parlor. 
They had as good a dinner as the hotel kitchen could pro- 
vide, and now Dolly was about starting out in search of 
“ Mrs. Beake,” with whom Evvy believed the Leonards to 
be staying. 

“ You won’t be lonely, I hope. Cousin Pris,” Dolly said, 
turning to where Miss Dearborn sat writing a letter to 
Thorndyke, in her precise old-fashioned script. She had 
agreed not to reveal her whereabouts, but the letter could 
be sent to New Haven by the hotel coach the next morning. 

‘‘ Lonely — no, dear ; I hope you’ll be successful in finding 
your friends.” 

Dolly smiled as she put a long pin into her felt hat with 
its mass of feathers. 

“ Not my friends exactly. Cousin Pris ; only people who, 
I hope, will clear up all this — this misunderstanding with 
the General.” 

Miss Dearborn was too keenly anxious for this result to 
mind being left a whole day even by herself if the object 
Dorothy had in view could be attained, and she declared the 
quiet chance to write — perhaps to take a “ cat-nap ” — just 
what she would like best. 

Dolly’s first destination was the post-oflSce, where she 
inquired where “ Mrs. Beake ” lived. 

‘‘John Beake’s wife or the widow,” demanded the 
postmistress, looking her over very critically, her gaze 


406 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


finally resting transfixed on Dorothy’s lovely hat and 
feathers. 

Dorothy could not say. It occurred to her, though, 
that the “ widow ” sounded more like it, and it occurred to 
her to add, “ A Mrs. Leonard and her daughter are visiting 
the Mrs. Beake I mean.” 

“ Oh, now I know ! ” said the woman, and she left her 
perch behind the post-office window to come out with Dolly 
to the door. 

“You take that road right up past the mill ; then the 
next to the left, and about half a mile on you’ll come to 
Mari Beake’s. You can’t miss it. A stun house — the 
only one anywheres around ; with a garden in front and a 
big medder to the left ; but there, any one’ll tell you.” 

Dorothy thanked the postmistress and hurried on. She 
felt curiously thrilled, excited, expectant, now that she was 
so near accomplishing her journey’s object — so near coming 
face to face with those intimately associated with poor 
Mrs. Hildreth’s secret, indeed most strangely and curiously 
associated with her own life ; how closelj’ to be w'oven into 
its future she could not say ; and the fact that the world 
would have regarded her as more than foolish, more than 
blind to her own interests in hunting these people up, 
weighed not at all with Dolly Kent, either when the story 
had been told her, or now at this moment, when every step 
was carrying her nearer to those who would doubtless 
change, in a flash, perhaps, her entire future. That they 
preferred isolation, or, at least, that they in no degree 
desired to be sought or recognized, might, perhaps, have 
weighed slightly with Dolly, kept her from too persistent 
a search, but that she felt, with Mrs. Hildreth, the old 
wrong could only be undone by offering to right it in every 


IN SALSTON 


407 


way possible ; never until this was accomplished could 
Mrs. Hildreth’s chafing, restless soul find peace. 

The soft, balmy air of the country-side was like a tonic 
to Dorothj^’s tired nerves and 'somewhat overwrought 
senses. Indeed, the girl had scarcely been aware how 
deeply she had been startled, shocked, unnerved, by that 
painful interview with her guardian, until in moments of 
solitude to-day his words had kept repeating themselves 
over and over with a cruel distinctness, but a persistency 
really the result of an almost morbid condition of mind — 
“ No — I do not trust you ! ” Dorothy, as she walked 
bravely along the lonely country road, could see plainly the 
stern white face, the black eyes with their depths of 
smouldering feeling — could hear his voice, mournful as well 
as resolute, “ I should have remembered ! ” What ? that the 
same blood flowed in her veins as in those of the Doroth}^ 
Kent he had believed in so utterly, and believed himself to 
have been duped or tricked by at the last ! 

“ Well ! ” thought the girl, with her head proudly up- 
lifted, “ all the more am I in the right, 7iow ; and oh, if it 
will only bring him comfort ! ” 

The second turn indicated by the obliging postmistress 
brought her upon a roadway skirted with meadow lands, 
which showed faintly those first stirrings of mother earth 
before she stretches out her hands with their green and 
blossom to the warmth of the May sunshine, the heat of 
June. Overhead a clear, soft sky was shining brightly, just 
touched by the shadows of the afternoon, and as Dolly 
walked on, looking for the stone house and its garden and 
meadowland, a blackbird sang out joyously, piercing the 
stillness everywhere about, and involuntarily bringing a 
smile of response to Dolly’s downcast face. It occurred to 


408 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


the girl that she would like to come to this quiet, secluded 
spot with some one congenial companion and idle away a 
whole summer time ; how restful — how full of peace those 
uplands to the left looked to eyes tired of the sights, the 
excitement, the glitter and dazzle of a New York sea- 
son,” ; how free and happy that delicious note of the 
robin rising now on the cool, still air ! And then, just as 
she had begun to wonder how far the postmistress’s half- 
mile measured, she came in sight of the stone house, stand- 
ing on the corner of the next bend, a small, two-storied, 
compact little dwelling, neat and orderly in its outward 
look, with a garden carefully prepared for summer flowers, 
already faintly, tenderly green. 

But Dolly scarcely heeded any of these details. Her 
whole mind and vision were occupied with one object — the 
figure of a girl in a close-fitting, dark blue gown, who had 
just come to the doorway, where she stood, looking out, 
up and down the quiet road, her lovely, but perfectly 
emotionless young face turned so that, in the first flush of 
the sunset lights, Dorothy saw it almost as under a trans- 
figurement. 

The girl did not move as Dolly, with a queer trembling 
of her limbs, and a quickly beating heart, opened the lit- 
tle gate and walked up the box-lined path to the door. A 
faint, childlike smile, more of inquiry than in greeting, 
curved her delicately moulded lips. 

Dolly hesitated a barely perceptible instant, but in that 
time a door within the cottage was opened and a tall, mid- 
dle aged woman came up behind the girl, laying one hand 
softly on her shoulder. It was the last moment of irresolu- 
tion ; and that a hesitation could have existed, showed 
Dolly — to her shame — that she had felt a personal sacrifice 
involved in what she had come here to do and say. But 


IN SALSTON 


409 


the passing feeling lent her courage. She smiled brightly 
and held out her hand. 

am sure I cannot be mistaken,” she said gently. 
“ Are you not Addy Leonard ? ” 

The girl smiled prettily and turned toward the woman — 
whom Dolly had quickly recognized — at her side. 

“ I must introduce myself, perhaps,” the Squire’s daughter 
said, feeling her pulses throbbing as she spoke. “ I am your 
cousin, Dorothy Kent.” 


CHAPTER LII. 


EEPARATION. 

Dolly’s despairing but important little letter to her 
guardian laid unnoticed by any one on the hall table until 
five o’clock, when Alfred Thorndyke calling to hear what 
good or ill words he had for him, observed it, and carried it 
himself to the General. 

The old soldier had passed a miserable night and day. 
With his quick, often unreasoning, prejudices, his pas- 
sionate dislike of anything like subterfuge or prevarication, 
he had at moments resigned himself to utter loss of confi- 
dence in the girl upon whom he had lavished not alone his 
wealth, and given his protection and the love of a parent, 
but in whom he had been proud to place his entire faith. 
And she had seemed to him transparent, guileless as a 
child ! Was he for a second time duped by one of her 
name ; tricked, fooled, cheated, not out of what was worth- 
less, — his money, — but his love, his confidence, his daily and 
hourly content ! No possible fiaw in his reasoning against 
the girl, in his condemnation, his harsh verdict, occurred to 
his mind during the miserable hours of that stormy after- 
noon, during which he sat alone, pondering as to what 
course he had best pursue ; how shape his life, and hers, so 
that she should be protected and cared for, yet never again 
left in a position where she could deceive others as she had, 
he declared to himself, deceived him. It was but a natural 
sequence to such thoughts that he took out the unsigned 
will, thankful it had gone no further ; and when Thorn- 

419 


REPARATION. 


411 


dyke was ushered into the room the General was liolding 
the precious document idly in his hands, his dark eyes 
mournfully gazing into the depths of the coal fire. 

‘‘ I — this letter was on the table, sir,” Thorndyke said 
directly the greetings, always cordial between the old 
man and his favorite, were exchanged. “ I brought it in, as 
Simms said he had not observed it.” * 

The young man knew,\of course, that it was in Dolly’s 
handwriting, judged she had sent it down from the seclu- 
sion of her room after, perhaps, a stormy interview with 
the General ; but he was by no means prepared for the 
start the General gave on opening it, nor the first words he 
uttered : 

Where has she gone? What does she mean?” and 
rising in evident distress he handed the letter to Thorn- 
dyke to read. 

Alfred read and re-read poor Dolly’s little letter, his 
anxiety for Dorothy shutting out every other feeling, 
making him almost forgetful of the presence he was in ; 
but, as at last he lifted his eyes from the tear-stained paper, 
and encountered the General’s fixed, half -frightened gaze, he 
remembered what had brought him there that day and 
exclaimed quickly : 

‘‘ General, can you explain it at all ? Tell me, what use 
can you make of me ? ” 

“ I am utterly at sea ! ” declared the old soldier, with 
emotion ; and dropping into his chair again he told Alfred 
all that had passed — ^his discoveries, his conversation with 
Dolly, her absolute refusal to explain matters. 

Thorndyke paced the floor nearly wild with dismay and 
anxiety, yet forcing himself to an outward show of com- 
posure. 

“ We must find her ! ” he said, at last. “I have an idea, 


412 


FOR HONOR ’S SAKE. 


from one or two trifles I have heard, some suggestions of 
Honor’s, I believe Mrs. Hildreth could solve something of 
the mystery. General, why not go up and see her your- 
self ? I will go with you, if you^ike. I will do all, every- 
thing in my power to put Doll}^ where I am sure she be- 
longs — in the right.” 

A brief consultation followed, but Thorndyke never 
swerved from his first opinion. The more he thought of it 
th6 more convinced he became that Mrs. Hildreth was the 
one to seek, and the General, now more intensely anxious 
to find Dolly than anything else, allowed himself at l(j,st to 
be governed by the younger man, heeding his caution to 
put Dolly’s flight in a proper way before the servants, even 
Mrs. Dale. It was to be inferred that she had gone to 
Johnsburg on business for her guardian, too hurriedly for 
good-bys, or to wait Mrs. Dale’s return from a trip down 
town. 

This arranged, Alfred himself assisted the General in his 
preparations to leave home, cautioning his faithful valet 
Parks to put up two changes of linen, fearing the journey 
might be prolonged, and explaining that he was accompany- 
ing his master, and would telegraph for Parks were he 
needed. This accomplished, Alfred sent a telegram to 
Fraser and the office to account for his absence the next 
day, and an hour later was relieved when he and the General 
were comfortably ensconced in a compartment of the parlor 
car on the Beckford express, each, however, too absorbed 
by anxious reflections to be very companionable; yet at 
least consoled by the determination to find Dorothy if she 
were on this side of the Atlantic. 

The lights of Beckford village were welcome to both 
travellers as the train rushed into the familiar station, and 
General Bering turned anxiously to his companion. 


REPARATION. 


413 


“ She may be at The Glen,” he said with a smile, which 
tried to look encouraffino:. 

‘‘Or with the Marstons,” said Alfred quickly. “Sup- 
pose, sir, you stop at Mrs. Hildreth’s, and I will go on to 
the Marstons’.” 

It was thus arranged, and within half an hour a hired 
hack had set the General down at the cottage, and gone 
lumbering up the road with Thorn dyke to the River House, 
where he believed some news of the fugitive might be 
found. 

It had been a restless, although not especially sulfering 
day with Mrs. Hildreth. AVhen the General was admitted 
to the drawing-room — entering it for the first time in his 
life — the mistress of the house, in a great easy chair, sat 
alone in her upstairs sitting-room, her thoughts keenly oc- 
cupied with a telegram just received. It was from Dorothy 
at Mallowfield, announcing the failure of her inquiry there 
and stating she would send word of their route further the 
next day. When sending it from the station Dorothy had 
no thought but of getting on someiohere that very night. 

“ A gentleman, Alice ! ” Mrs. Hildreth exclaimed, as her 
maid announced the visitor. “ What / ” as she looked at 
the card, “ General Bering ! ” 

Of course he had come for Dorothy ! For one moment 
Mrs. Hildreth stood still, a woman of stone, it seemed, her 
hands pressed hard against her breast, the gray look coming 
into her face ; then, how she never knew or could define, a 
resolution came to her. 

“ Alice,” she said gravely, “ tell — ask the General if he 
will mind coming up here. Explain to him I am not well 
enough to go downstairs.” 

If the General had any doubts as to the accuracy of her 
maid’s report, they vanished speedily at sight of the 


414 


FOR HONORIS SAKE. 


woman whom he had so long disliked, always mistrusted ; 
and, as he took her hand in his, the old soldier felt chiefly 
compassion, for her face was lined with marks of pain ; a 
strange softness was in the eyes ; a look, above all, as of 
some one fighting the last grim battle — and alone — moved 
him profoundly ; more, perhaps, than the same drear tokens 
of a fading life might have done in one whom he had never 
felt an enemy. 

‘‘ You are ill, Hannah,” he said, as he took the seat she 
offered ; “ and I had no idea of this.” 

She smiled faintly. 

“ I am very near the end,” she answered, leaning back 
in her chair wearily, ‘‘ and — oh, how glad I am you are 
here.” 

Without waiting for his inquiry, she mentioned Dor- 
othy’s visit earlier in the day, showed the telegram, and 
assured him that the girl would not fail to let her know 
her whereabouts the next afternoon at latest. “ Mean- 
while,” she added suddenly, and, bending forward, she 
shaded her eyes with her hand and spoke in a tone of deep 
agitation, “ I believe you have been sent here by a merci- 
ful, patient God ; for, Angus, I have your forgiveness to 
ask, my story to tell, while yet I have strength and cour- 
age to do it. Will you listen to me, for Dolly’s sake — she 
who has taught me how to die, if I cannot live — patiently 
and with forbearance ; and remember — I am a dying 
woman.” 


CHAPTER LIII. 


THE SECRET PAST. 

It was three and twenty years since young Dorothy 
Kent, that sister of the Squire’s adopted by General Bering, 
made her first visit from home unaccompanied by one of 
those she regarded as her “parents.” Her hostess was a 
woman of the world, — a pretty, pleasure- loving young 
matron — who took sincere satisfaction in introducing to her 
summer guests and associates at Cape May such a lovely 
young creature as Miss Kent, who, of course, had double 
claim to regard since she was, so every one was told, 
heiress to a “ solid million.” But Dorothy, a gentle, 
affectionate, but not specially brilliant girl of seventeen or 
eighteen, disappointed her friends by giving most of her 
time to a young naval officer. Lieutenant Joyce, of no par- 
ticular family, or prospects ; nothing to recommend him to 
her, it would seem, but his uncommon sort of good looks, 
having Italian blood on both sides, mingling with American, 
in his veins, and the unimportant fact that he was nephew 
to Mrs. Bering’s sister-in-law, Hannah Hildreth. 

Young Joyce, however, the “Andrea ” Mrs. Hildreth had 
once mentioned to Dolly, was a lover, it would appear, 
absolutely after Dorothy’s heart. With all her quiet, almost 
childish ways, there was a strong vein of romance in the 
girl’s composition — romance balanced by no knowledge of 
the world ; none of the clear, practical sense oi justice to self 
and others which saved Dolly’s ardent nature from many 
an extreme. Andrea Joyce, with his wonderful dark eyes, 

415 


41G 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


his southern skin, his mingling of melancholy and vehe- 
mence, his wild adoration of her, and his despair when he 
declared that he knew too well the folly of asking General 
Bering for her hand, was a lover who filled the sum total 
of Dorothy’s ideal. Picturesque, brilliant, impetuous, 
daring, he was like some one, the girl told herself, in a wild 
romantic poem, or perhaps the liero of a mediaeval tale of 
chivalry, sentiment, and passion. Not for an instant did 
she dispute with him the idea that their engagement, if at 
all, must exist in secret ; but she was wholly unprepared 
for a suggestion which he made to her one morning apro- 
pos of her return to New York. 

Knowing that the next winter Dorothy was to be ‘‘intro- 
duced” regularly in New York society, he felt positive that 
she would not only be eagerly sought in marriage, but per- 
suaded, even against her will, — a weak one, as he knew, — to 
forget him or pass him by for some more eligible and suit- 
able man among her adopted father’s friends. How it 
came about that the secret marriage he suggested was at 
last consented to by the timid, but romantic and impression- 
able girl, who could say ! It was the repetition of an old 
story — of a girl’s folly and blindness, where her senses and 
sentiment were taken captive ; of a selfish, vain man’s car- 
rying the weaker nature by storm. If Dorothy was fright- 
ened when, a few days later, she realized that in the little 
church two miles away she had actually become Andrea 
Joyce’s wife, yet the romance, the poetry of it all clung to 
her during the weeks which remained of her visit, before her 
husband’s time on shore expired, and he sailed away on his 
ship, Orion., bound for the shores of Turkey and not to 
return in two long years. 

Then it was the girl realized what she had done ; 
then came the return to General Bering’s house, where al- 


THE SECRET PAST. 


417 


most directly she discovered that her secret had been told 
by Andrea to his Aunt Hannah — Mrs. Hildreth — before 
he sailed. 

Ho one knew better than Mrs. Hildreth that poor little 
Dorothy, as Andrea Joyce’s wife, had a dreary enough fate 
in store for her. The aunt who had educated him after his 
father’s death, paid his debts over and again, cast him 
off to take him back more than once, was well aware that 
such a one as he could make no woman happy as his wife, 
and what she should have done v;^as to counsel Dorothy at 
once to tell the whole story to her adopted parents. But 
instead of this, she advised absolute silence ; gave the girl 
no hint of Andrea’s real character, acted as the medium 
whereby letters were exchanged twice between the j^oung 
husband and wife, and all the time secretly hoped that 
when the marriage did come to be known it would result 
in the General’s disinheriting the girl she felt stood between 
her baby Floy’s rights or possible future endowment. 

Then it was that during a temporary absence in Virginia 
of the Berings, Dorothy Joyce, one winter’s morning, quietly 
left her adopted home. It was by Mrs. Hildretli’s advice 
that she left word she was visiting her father, who had 
sent for her, and it was Mrs. Hildreth who journeyed to 
Johnsburg, and sowed seeds of dissension between the old 
Squire and his former friend, to whose care he had so will- 
ingly, years before, confided his motherless little daughter. 
Some months went by, the General receiving curt replies 
to his requests that Dorothy return “home.” Meanwhile, 
at the house of a woman formerly known to Mrs. Hildreth, 
the young wife was living quietly, terrified now lest her 
marriage become known ; yet in her heart longing to tell 
the whole story to her adopted parents. 

The woman who in answer to Mrs. Hildreth’s request had 


27 


418 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


received young Mrs. Joyce, knew her only by that name. 
When her child was born, and christened “Adela,” no 
other name was given. Her husband was known to be 
away with his ship ; the marriage, this Mrs. Leonard was 
well aware, had been a private one, and she was perfectly 
content to take charge of the baby when, a month later, 
poor little Dorothy did go to Johnsburg, to find her father’s 
jealousy of the Berings roused to such an extent that against 
all justice and reason he had determined Dorothy should 
not leave his roof again. By what means Mrs. Hildreth 
had compassed this cruel end, she alone could say. 
When, within a few weeks, news came of the loss of the 
Orion., with all on board, it was Mrs. Hildreth who sent 
word of the disaster to the young wife, Avho, already show- 
ing signs of decline, sank under the double blow of separa- 
tion from her beloved adopted parents, and the death of 
the husband whose name had never passed her lips at home. 
The disease was fatal from the first. Mrs. Hildreth, un- 
known to her husband’s sister or her husband, paid poor 
little Dorothy a brief last visit ; promised to take her 
child, the baby Adela, to her adopted father, to beg his for- 
giveness, to tell him all, and so, comforted by the hope 
thus given her, spared the misery of seeing her poor little 
romance die a cruel death, the gentle, weak, but loving 
young life was ended ; and only when death had set its seal 
on all hostility, all weakly human passion, jealousy, or 
strife. General Bering was allowed to see and bid farewell 
to the child he and his wife had loved and cherished as 
their very own. 

What passed between him and Dolly’s grandfather that 
dreadful day no one ever knew, but henceforth he turned 
his back, and would have closed his heart forever, on the 
thought of one named Kent, but for the strange chance 


THE SECRET PAST. 


419 


which had brought the late Squire’s daughter Dolly to 
Avaken old chords, revive the ghosts of buried feeling, and 
once more set loose the fountains of his kindly, stricken 
heart. 

At first Mrs. Hildreth determined to fulfil her promise 
to the dead. It was evident that no one connected with 
Dorothy guessed her secret marriage or knew of the exist- 
ence of the little girl, and on visiting Mrs. Leonard — a 
cousin of Peter Baker’s by the way — she w^as convinced that 
the good woman was ignorant even of her boarder’s maiden 
name. She was a childless widow and in very moderate 
circumstances. It was an easy matter to persuade her to 
continue the care of the little one for a small regular allow- 
ance, which Mrs. Hildreth determined to paj" herself, while 
she was revolving in her mind the expediency of telling the 
Berings the story of their “ child’s ” marriage and "what 
had followed. But from deferring the melancholy tale 
month after month it grew harder and harder to tell, and 
as it seemed more than probable her own child Floy might 
win favor in the Berings’ eyes, Mrs. Hildreth determined 
finally that the secret should never pass her lips. Dorothy 
Joyce had carried it to her grave, her husband was dead ; 
there let it remain. And circumstances favored the miser- 
able deceit, the unjust silence. Mrs. Leonard became pas- 
sionately attached to the child left in her charge. As 
years went by, her one dread was lest “ Addy ” should be 
taken from her ; and when, comparatively lately, old Peter 
Baker — who had never lost sight of Mrs. Leonard or Mrs. 
Hildreth from the day the former showed him a package 
of the poor young mother’s papers, which he had quietly 
appropriated — had informed her of some of Addy’s claims 
to distinction, Mrs. Leonard’s fears became almost morbid. 
She had at once decided to accept nothing further from 


420 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


Mrs. Hildreth, who, indeed, for ten years back had only 
contributed in a desultory way to Adela’s support, hoping 
thereby to loosen all their hold upon the girl dear to her 
as her very own; and finding that search was made for her, 
realizing that Baker had some money-making scheme on 
foot in regard to Addy, poor Mrs. Leonard had begun those 
distressing migrations, never staying long enough in one 
place to make friends, or leave much trace when they went 
away. 

Fred Marston’s visit had given her genuine alarm ; but 
on his promise to protect her “ interests,” — otherwise, try 
and ensure her a peaceful, undisturbed possession of Adela, — 
she had frankly told him what there might be to fear from 
Baker, and especially urged his recovering the papers, 
which contained several letters to and from Andrea Joyce, 
as well as the marriage certificate of Adela’s poor young 
parents. It had been a genuine shock to Mrs. Leonard 
when, in that chance encounter with Dorothy long ago at 
the Beckport Hotel, her resemblance to Addy’s young 
mother had so startled her, and it was to satisfy her mind 
more thoroughly as to the identity of the General’s ward 
with this young girl that she had gone to the Hall that 
memorable night, when Dorothy had been so disturbed by 
the fixity of her quiet, critical glance. 

Meanwhile the child, whose existence had been so long 
and successfully concealed, had grown to womanhood, en- 
compassed by the tenderest devotion of her adopted 
mother, who made of her almost an idol ; perhaps, because 
for her wonderful and striking beauty, her grace, her sweet 
voice, and gentle disposition, Addy was not quite like 
other girls. Impossible to define the subtle difference — or 
defect — the faint line to be drawn between her half-clouded 
intellect and that of other young people in her foster- 


THE SECRET PAST. 


421 


mother’s class. Somewhere, a veil, scarcely perceptible 
at times, yet always felt, even by the girl herself, hid 
from her mental vision things that to other minds were 
clear, common facts. To have called her, as the Scotch 
say, wanting absolutely, would have been an exaggeration 
of this faint mist which at times enveloped the girl’s gentle 
nature ; to have defined it as anything like imbecility 
would have been cruel exaggeration ; yet there it certainly 
was — something needing exploration, appealing pathetically 
for help from keener understandings ; and as the fact was 
thoroughly realized b}^ Mrs. Leonard, her devotion grew 
in fervor, her love in strength. A noisy place, a great 
crowd, confused and distressed Adela beyond measure. 
Irritable people, any one who scolded,” made her, in her 
unobtrusive, uncomplaining way, wretched, her mind more 
cloudy ; and never, Mrs. Leonard determined, while she had 
money to care for her, or strength to protect her, should 
the girl be removed from the tranquil, uneventful life 
wherein the widow found her own happiness, because it 
was health, peace, and something like mental activity to 
the child of her heart if not in very truth her name. She^ 
for all her straitened means, her few resources, could 
give Adela what “ their ” money, luxuries, and distinction 
could never buy. 

And this was the story of an old wrong, a long-hidden 
secret, a slavery of deceit, which Mrs. Hildreth painfully, 
but with a growing sense of freedom and thanksgiving, 
told twice that eventful day. 


CHAPTER LIV. 

MRS. Leonard’s quest. 

‘'I AM your cousin, Dorothy Kent.” 

Dolly’s voice broke the silence all about, with a strange 
sort of cadence in it, and Addy’s lovely, tranquil face, 
woke into something like animation. Never, in all her 
life, had she known of a relation except her mother, and 
her step-aunt, Mrs. Blake. But she turned now to Mrs. 
Leonard with a quick light in her dark eyes. 

‘‘ Mother,” she said, in her sweet, soft voice, wonder- 
fully like a child’s, “ is that true ? ” 

“ The young lady says so, Addy,” said poor Mrs. Leonard, 
with rising color ; but something in the look of Dolly’s face 
must have touched her, for she added quickly, “ Come in, 
will you not, Miss Kent ? Move back, Addy dear.” 

And Dolly, feeling very queerly, as though things would 
never somehow be quite the same again, followed Mrs. 
Leonard into the cottage parlor, Addy still regarding her 
with that look, half curiosity, half pleasure, lighting her 
face into new beauty, but emphasizing the strange lack it 
showed wlien in repose. 

The room was comfortably furnished, old-fashioned and 
homelike, but unlike many country parlors, bore evidences 
of every-day occupancy. Some delicate embroideiy Addy’s 
skilful lingers had been working upon lay with its heap 
of bright, soft silks on a table in one window. An easy 
chair drawn up to the lire had a shawl thrown across it, 
and there were books and papers on a stand near by. 


MRS. LEONARDS QUEST. 


423 


Very “out of date” engravings hung upon the walls. 
The mantel ornaments were of gaudily painted china, a 
pair of pictures worked in silk occupied places of honor, 
and the fire-screen was similar in stitch and faded design. 
But there was a decided air of refinement in the homely lit- 
tle room for which Dorothy was profoundly grateful. To 
have found lier cousin in sordid, vulgar surroundings, 
would have, indeed, been a trial hard to bear. 

“ You were not expecting me, of course,” said Dolly, as 
soon as they were all seated, and looking at Mrs. Leonard 
with very gentle eyes. Mrs. Hildreth had dwelt carefully 
upon the devotion of the adopted mother of the child poor 
Dorothy Joyce had left. “ But I want to say at once^ Mrs. 
Leonard, I come here only as a friend — your friend — and I 
feel that no matter what happens it is you who have 
the right to dictate everything about — about your daugh- 
ter.” 

Dolly’s rather pafe cheeks had colored as she spoke, and 
Mrs. Leonard drew a quick breath and rose to her feet. 

“ Yes,” she said hurriedly, “I think I Aave expected you, 
and you are •perfectly right, young lady. ' I am the one to 
say what shall or shall not be done for her ! ” She was 
trembling visibly now, and she looked at Dolly, then at the 
tranquil, lovely young creature sitting watching them, and 
back again at the Squire’s daughter. There had been little 
said, but the look was all-expressive and went straight to 
Dorothy’s heart. It said plainly as any words, “ Don’t you 
see she needs me ? she is mine by right,” and Dolly’s an- 
swering glance was equally significant. 

‘‘ Addy, dear, you don’t mind going out for a while to 
Aunt Barbara do you ? I have to talk to this young lady 
for a little while,” Mrs. Leonard said, in the gentle tone 
habitual with her in addressing the girl. 


424 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


“ To my cousin ! ” said Addy, with a little happy laugh. 
She drew nearer to Dolly, and looked at her in a kind of 
fascination. “ Will you be here when I come back?” she 
said shyly. 

“ Yes, dear, of course,” declared Dolly, and Addy went 
away, only turning to give her mother a sweet, reassuring 
smile as she left the room. 

“ You know all about it, then,” said the woman eagerly, 
as soon as they were alone. “ And I am sure you look too 
good and kind, my dear, to want to take her from me. Be- 
sides, who could care for her as I do ? You can see ” 

She stopped short, divided between an anxiety to know how 
much Dolly had divined of Addy’s weakness, and a long- 
ing to find her visitor had remarked nothing unusual with 
the girl. But though she had formed no real opinion, no 
conclusions, yet something in Addy’s look, or was it her 
maimer, had puzzled the girl — puzzled and touched her at 
the same time. 

What is the trouble ? ” she asked gently. Mrs. Leon- 
ard, who had resumed her seat in the window, turned her 
face away for an instant, while she clasped her hands 
tightly together. 

“ We’ve never quite known,” she said finally, and look- 
ing at Dolly with sad eyes. “ At first it seemed just as if 
she was a little backward. She was such a beautiful child 
every one noticed her — and so good ! There never was 
a better baby, never was a sweeter disposition than my 
girl’s,” cried the poor woman, with pride and pity together. 
‘‘By and by I saw she wasn’t quick — and that’s all it 
seems to be now; only a city life, any confusion, makes her 
miserable, and she forgets things if there is any excite- 
ment.” 

“ How good you have been to her,” exclaimed Dolly, 


MRS. LEONARD'S QUEST, 


425 


almost with tears in her eyes. “ Oh, Mrs. Leonard, I speak 
for myself, hut I am sure all belonging to me would say 
the same. You have earned the rights of a mother. No 
one ought to venture to disturb you. All we would ever 
wish to do would be to help you to have every comfort, to 
give her any care you liked — but what is money compared 
to your love ? ” 

“ My dear,” said the woman gently, “ I thought you’d 
see it that way ! We have gotten along, Addy and I. 
I never tax, or trouble, or tire her, but she works beautifully 
and loves to do it ; ” she lifted up the mass of exquisite 
embroidery from the little stand. “How often she brings 
her poor mother to my mind as I see her needle flying in 
and out ! Not that she looks a hit like her — no, they say 
she’s just what he was, the father ; but Mr. Joyce ” 

Mrs. Leonard paused a moment and then added : 

“ You’re her self, her mortal image, Miss ; only brighter, 
smarter looking, somehow.” 

Dorothy felt a rush of pity, of love — longing to hear 
more — for her poor young aunt, dead and buried so long ; 
misunderstood, blamed, even as she had been, by her guar- 
dian ; and how strange it seemed to be sitting here listening 
to talk of her after all these years, the sound of her child’s 
laugh from a distant room reaching them. Mrs. Leonard, 
to whom all the pitiful story had been made known, who 
had taken the motherless little- bady to her heart and care ; 
the only link, it seemed, but Addy herself, between this 
day and the past. 

“ Poor Aunt Dolly ! ” Dorothy said softly. “ Yes, they 
say I am like her ” 

“As like ! It’s wonderful ! ” said the woman, almost 
solemnly. “ Here in this very room she has sat many a 
time, poor dear ” 


426 


Fon HONOR’S SAKE. 


Oh ! ” cried Dolly eagerly, “ was it here — here, you and 
she were together ? ” 

Mrs. Leonard nodded her head sadly. 

“Yes, my dear. My sister was away then, and I had 
the house, and here it was Mrs. Hildreth sent her to my 
care. I’ve many a little thing belonging to her perhaps 
you’d like to see?” she added gently. Now that she had 
been assured of Dolly’s friendliness and desire to protect 
her “ interests,” whose cause young Marston had espoused, 
Mrs. Leonard was ready enough to be considerate and 
hospitable. 

She led the way up a narrow, scrupulously clean little 
stairway to a room just above the parlor, and which was 
furnished in a pretty, old-fashioned chintz ; bed liangings, 
tables, and chairs, the high “press” and chest of drawers, all 
partaking of the same character of “ old times” and refine- 
ment which gave the little parlor its air of something like 
distinction. 

“This was her room, poor dear,” Mrs. Leonard said, 
drawing back the window curtain so that a flood of rosy, 
sunset light came in, falling all about the tall, graceful young 
figure of poor Dorothy Joyce’s niece and namesake, the 
girl whose inheritance of soft gray eyes, sunset-tinged hair, 
and sweet dimpling smile had brought her the good fortune 
of her life — “ mortal image ” as it was declared of the girl 
whose simple, sad story ended years ago. Dorothy felt al- 
most as though she were treading sacred ground, touching* 
sacred relics, as she moved about the quiet sunset-liglited 
little room and examined the articles which Mrs. Leonard 
took out of a drawer in the tall, brass-handled chest. They 
were unimportant trifles, save in their sad significance as 
having belonged to Addy’s fair young mother. A hand- 
kerchief of exquisite embroidery, a silk scarf, — what we used 


MRS. LEORARB^S QUEST. 


427 


to call a “ roman sasli ” in those days, — an album, nearly 
written up with verses from young friends of Dorothy Kent 
before she was Andrea’s wife, two of his letters in a faded 
envelope, and a hair brooch set in pearls. 

“ I did — I ttsed to think I’d keep them for Addy,” Mrs. 
Leonard said, as Dolly, not quite able to keep back the 
tears, turned over the silent mementoes of that by-gone girl- 
hood reverently. “ But, I don’t think she’d quite understand. 
Perhaps, my dear, you’ll take them with you. You seem to 
be the one that has the right to them any way, now ! ” 

Dorothy gladly accepted the offer. When they went 
downstairs again she carried with her the little box of 
trifles, left, or forgotten, by her poor young aunt the day she 
left Salston for her father’s house. Yes, she had a right to 
them. She would take them back, like a peace-offering, to 
her guardian. 

‘‘ Mrs. Leonard,” Dorothy said suddenly, when they were 
below again, “ did my grandfather never know she was 
here ? All those months, when he wrote to the General 
she could not go back to him.” 

Mrs. Leonard looked very grave for a moment. 

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know for sure at the 
time who he was, but he came here twice ; he did not see 
her ; he told me there were family reasons why nothing 
should be said. I never could tell what his motive was, 
but since then I’ve suspected he was angered against 
General Bering, and felt that he had been, in some way, 
tricked about the marriage. So far as I know, after she 
went to Johnsburg nothing more was said. The old 
Squire, Baker says, heard of Lieutenant Joyce’s death — 
perhaps he meant no one should ever hear of the marriage.” 

Certainly, Dolly reflected, neither her mother nor Aunt 
Jule could have known — or, if they did, no word of it ever 


428 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE, 


had been spoken in her hearing ; but now it would be hap- 
piness to tell General Bering the story — softening Mrs. 
Hildreth’s share in it, hiding, so far as possible, her deceit, 
but bringing him that proud assurance that none of her 
name had willingly wronged or duped him. “ She wanted 
on her death bed to see you and tell you all — to leave you 
her child,” Dolly intended to say to the old man ; and as 
the thought brought a tender, dewy look to her eyes, a smile 
to her lips, Addy came back, with a shy, wistful air of 
uncertainty. 

Why don’t you take off your hat ? ” she said, going up 
to Dolly. Mother, make my cousin stay.” 

Dolly smiled, inexpressibly pleased and touched by the 
girl’s evidently spontaneous liking for her. 

“ Perhaps your mother will let me come and make a long 
visit some day, Addy,” she answered gently, and holding 
the girl’s slim, pretty hand in both of hers. “ And bring 
your friend Evvy, too.” 

“Oh, Kvvy ! ” exclaimed Addy, with real sparkle in her 
eyes. “ I love Evvy,” she added tenderly. 

Dorothy could not help reflecting, even at the moment, 
how there could be compensation made, even for Evvy’s 
dull life, by the real affection of this lovely, emotionless 
young creature, who had, apparently for some strange 
reason, been attracted to the poor, overworked, ill-used, 
uncouth girl at Johnsburg. What had drawn them 
together, who could tell ? Yet God had His purpose in it, 
doubtless — perhaps their souls, all undeveloped, as both 
were, met, touched at some point keener minds could not 
have, fathomed. 

“I must go now,” Dolly said in a moment. She looked 
at Mrs. Leonard. “ Do not fear anything for the future,” 
she said earnestly. “ I knoxo General Bering will only be 


MRS. LEONARD'S QUEST. 


429 


too happy to leave you the full control and charge of my 
cousin, and her only other near relation, Dr. Kent, her 
uncle, will never interfere, I know.” 

Mrs. Leonard, too thoroughly reassured to feel her old 
causes of alarm, remembered that she had not at first 
received Dolly with much hospitality, and made haste to urge 
her remaining for tea ; but our heroine had accomplished 
her purpose, and could now think only of hurrying back to 
tell Miss Dearborn all of the story any one would ever 
know ; then to make all speed home to her guardian, and, 
as she hoped, a full understanding, at least of this part of 
what had seemed to be a betrayal of his tender confidence. 


CHAPTER LV. 


“it was honor.” 

Dolly felt — as she often said later — in a strange, queer 
frame of mind, half excited and exalted, half depressed 
and fearful, as she left the stone cottage and turned, in the 
soft spring twilight, to retrace her steps back to the hotel. 
At moments it seemed all unreal — fantastic — queer ; an odd 
jumble of facts and circumstances, events and people, out 
of shadow land — these three or four months’ experiences ; 
again everything seemed painfully clear, matter-of-fact, and 
decisive. In truth, the poor girl had suffered more men- 
tally for some time than her brave spirit and eager desire 
to set all things right in her little world would allow; but 
there was a strained feeling at her heart ; the sense of iso- 
lation which had of late crept over her ; and as she walked 
down the still country road, thinking, half tearfull}^, of her 
unknown Aunt Dolly, whose steps had so often trodden the 
same path, no doubt, a wonder came into her mind whether 
life for her, abundant as were its blessings, would go on 
year after year, with gradual indrawing of that natural free- 
hearted, spontaneous desire to be all frank, free, and open 
as to thought, which she knew well enough was one of her 
characteristic traits. It was very seldom Dorothy spent 
ten minutes considering herself. She never “ introspected,” 
or picked herself to pieces, like Honor. She was often 
deeply conscious of her shortcomings, heartily sorry for 
not doing more than she did, but she never dissected her 
“ temperament,” or bemoaned herself sentimentally, so that 

430 


‘•IT WAS HONOR. 


431 


even as she walked along in the soft shadows of this day, 
she was surprised at persistently dwelling on what she 
called feeling s?"' 

Yet they were there. Dolly could not deny it — could not, 
it would seem, subdue them. Thoughts of Honor were 
mingled somehow with these vague, depressed, overstrained 
feelings, and Dolly wondered, with a sad smile, how Donald’s 
brave but hopeless wooing would prosper — and at the same 
moment she stood still in the road, every sense strained, 
quickened, and then, as it were, suddenly paralyzed, for di- 
rectly before her — only divided from her by the stile she 
was about to cross — stood Thorndyke ! 

The swift whiteness of the girl’s face, then its flame of 
color, dyeing brow and chin, and fading again, almost fright- 
ened him. 

“ Dolly ! ” he exclaimed ; then he put out his hand. 

‘‘How do you do?” said Dorothy, with a faint smile. 
She sedately shook hands across the stile. Then, “ What 
brought you here?” she added, in a very small voice in- 
deed. 

“ What has brought me many a journey, Dorothy,” said 
the young man, half sadly. “ Just you.” 

“But,” Dorothy sat down on her side of the stile, while 
Alfred, provokingly cool, leaned on his and looked down 
upon her, “how did you know — how — oh, do tell me?” she 
said, with nervous eagerness. 

“Well, you see when a young woman runs away, after 
promising to see me the same day, what can I do but look 
her up ? Seriously, Dolly, we were in a bad state about jmu. 
The General and I held a council, then went to Mrs. Hil- 
dreth, or rather he did, while I searched at the Marstons’.” 

“ Oh,” murmured Dorothy. 

“ He and Mrs. Hildreth had a long private talk. He told 


432 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


me of it, the main point at least, about your coming in searcli 
for your cousin ; queer how relations spring up, isn’t it ? ” 

Dorothy, whose eyes were keenly fixed upon the familiar 
face in the twilight above her, knew perfectly well he was 
talking to make time. 

“ Alfred,” she said gravely, “ what is it you are keeping 
back ? ” 

“ Only this dear — the General is not well and sent me for 
you ; not dangerously ill, only the doctors are a little fear- 
ful. Your letter yesterday to Mrs. Hildreth revealed your 
whereabouts ; and so, of course,” the rare caressing smile, 
which, in spite of self restraint, would now and again cross 
Thorndyke’s face, gleamed there for an instant, “ of course 
I came for you.” 

“ Oh, then, we can go home at once,” cried Dolly, with a 
quick beating of her heart. “And I can tell him I have 
found her — Addy, I mean — and ” 

“And Dolly, Fred has just returned, and when Miss 
Jane heard of the General’s displeasure she insisted he 
should tell everything, and — it is all right.” 

Dolly stood up. Her limbs were trembling and she laid 
one hand on the step of the stile for support. It was dif- 
ficult to realize that the tangle of the past few months was 
unravelled — that there need be no more mysteries, conceal- 
ments, or action without taking counsel of some one wiser 
than herself. Dolly lifted her head and looked earnestly 
at Thorndyke, while these thoughts floated half dreamingly 
through her mind ; then, seeing his hand outstretched to 
assist her, she laid her arm in it and he felt its nervous 
trembling. 

“Dolly,” he said, as she stood on the other side near 
him, still holding the girl’s hand in his own. “ You are 
not well, you don’t look yourself ; tell me, can I not be 


“/r WAS IIONOE” 


433 


of service in any way ? Am I to be shut out wholly from 
your confidence, because once I dared to hope for more?” 

Dolly’s eyes ouglit to have answered him ; but he went 
on, while they were slowly crossing the meadow : 

‘‘Why, even Honor, with all her apparent — we ma}'^ call 
it per baps — does me inore credit.” He smiled, 

and slowly took a letter from his breast-pocket. “She has 
condescended to write me, asking that I be the bearer of a 
most irnportant message to you.” 

“ Honor ! ” cried Dollj^ looking up in a startled way. 
“ Why — what is it ? ” 

“Only this — I was to tell you that — well, Donald is on 
probation, so to speak.” 

Dorothy stood very still, her face rose-pink as she turned 
it toward her “ bon camaradeP 

“ He has seen her, then — has spoken ? ” The words 
came slowly, for it was so bard to believe ; but all the 
landscape, the fair spring country round about them 
seemed glorified at the moment. 

“Yes, Honor bids me to tell 3’ou of it. He has asked 
her to be his wife and her answer is — so like Honor ! — that 
she will consider it ; if she feels as she does now, in three 
months, she will say that all-important little word, so hard 
to have spoken, yet meaning so much.” 

“ I can scarcely credit it,” said Dolly, without removing 
her eyes from Thorndyke’s face. “ I thought ” 

“ Dorothy,” exclaimed the young man suddenly, a new 
light seeming to flash upon him, “ tell me, when you said 
you loved someone else, could it have been Donald ? ” 

He broke off, the color leaping into his dark cheek, but 
his eyes, full of deepest compassion, compelled her to 
answer truthfully : 

“ Ho, no, it was Ilonor?'* She turned her head away, 
28 


434 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


afraid to have her face betray what was in her heart at the 
moment. 

“ It was Honor f ” echoed Alfred. Things were certainly 
revealing themselves strangely. ‘‘ Dolly,” he went on 
hurriedly, and speaking in a low restrained voice, “ there 
mmt be frankness once and for all between us. You 
know, dear, I never meant to trouble you again ; but now, 
if by any chance you thought your sweet cousin stood be- 
tween us when you answered me that time, and if now you 
could say differently, I have surely earned the right to 
know it.” 

Dolly raised her eyes. 

“ What am I to say ? ” she half whispered, a smile of 
exceeding loveliness flickering across her face. 

Thorndyke’s eyes glowed. 

‘‘ Hold out your hand, Dorothy,” he commanded, and, as 
that slim member was laid in his, he continued, letting all 
the joyousness within him shine in his clear, dark face. 
“ Is it mine ? HonH be untrue to yourself, to what is right. 
What you say now means my whole future.” 

“ I am not worth it,” murmured Dolly. 

lie laughed joyously. 

“ Oh, Dorothy ! ” he exclaimed, drawing nearer to her, 
“ what a wicked girl you have been. So this has been 
your motive all along. And you thought yourself wise 
enougli to judge everything and everybody.” 

“ No, no,” cried Dolly, half in tears, but with her dimples 
coming into view. “ Oh, Alfred,” she added in an instant, 
“ I’m afraid you’ll have to be very strict with me. I’m 
terribly in need of discipline.” 

They walked on an instant in silence, both feeling too 
deeply for words; but if Dorothy could have spoke it 
would have been to thank Qod for the fairness and good- 


“ IT HOJSfOR:* 


435 


ness of life at that moment, while Thorndyke was wonder- 
ing if Fraser were not right. Tlie sweetness, the humility, 
the bravery of this girl beside him, whom he loved witli all 
the strength of his nature, came from that Power whose 
majesty he had of late learned to revere. 

“ Dolly,” he said, as they were nearing the village road, 
“ I mean to be terribly exacting. You shall pay me for 
every hour’s misery, sweetheart. I feel as if I wanted to 
talk to you for a year.” 

She laughed. The happy, whole-hearted laugh he had 
for some time missed. 

‘‘ What is a year to a lifetime,” was her answer, and as 
they stood together for an instant, she added, “ This has 
been such a wonderful day, Alfred. If only my dear Cousin 
Angus were well, I should be afraid of so much happiness 
at once. Are you sure^ sure, you, that it is all real, not 
some dream?” 

Thorndyke bent, and reverently, tenderly laid his lips on 
the pure unsullied ones of his promised wife. 

“It is no dream, dearest,” he said gently, holding her 
hands closely in his own, while the color flooded Dorothy’s 
face swiftly. “ That is our compact. God knows I mean 
to be all — eveiything you wish me to be ; and Dorothy, you 
have taught me to put my hand to the plough firmlj^ and 
now, please God, I will not remove it until He bids me ! ” 

Miss Dearborn had tried, since Alfred Thorndyke’s 
sudden appearance at the hotel, to “ possess her soul in 
patience,” while he went in search of Dorothy ; but it was 
no wonder that the little lady felt strangely unnerved and 
excited. Events, years past, trooped before her. She re- 
called her own young days before the estrangement, grow- 
ing out of a trifle, with General Bering ; her mother’s death ; 
her loneliness, poverty, struggles for the small indepen- 


436 


FOR HONORS SAKE. 


dence she had secured, and realized that all that was 
gracious and sweet in her life to-day had come througli 
these two young people, dearer than any other beings 
could ever be to her in life. And now, strangest of all, 
the General had sent for her — sent not imperiously but 
with courtesy and even pleading. Thorndyke had spoken 
frankly of the friendship he and Dolly and the Andersons 
felt for the General’s kinswoman, of her bravely borne 
poverty, her present life of comparative ease, but a few 
words, which escaped the General’s lips involuntarily, told 
mucli. “ Hannah’s doing— but I was weak, wicked.” That 
Dolly had Miss Dearborn’s companionship and protection 
at this moment seemed to have thoroughly pleased the old 
man, and, as one result of the varied and exciting experiences 
of those last days, he had commissioned Alfred to ask his 
grandniece to return with them to The Glen, where he lay 
sick, perhaps “ unto death.” 

True to her housewifely instincts. Miss Dearborn busied 
herself seeing what kind of a supper the little hotel could 
produce ; also she cajoled the landlady into serving it rather 
daintily in the sitting-room, a judicious fee being pressed 
upon the airy young woman who helped ” Mrs. Robinson ; 
while a somewhat stately mention of “Mr. Thorndyke, 
General Bering’s lawyer;” etc., etc., acted as she meant it 
should. The indolent but good-natured landlord actually 
bestirred himself in the matter, and before Dolly and 
Alfred returned a round table was prepared, with fresh 
damask, the best glass and china, and something very 
savory and appetizing was being made ready in the regions 
beyond. 

I am afraid that neither of the pair were sufficiently out 
of cloudland to appreciate such earthly considerations, but 
Thorndyke had found time to tell Dorothy of the General’s 


“ir TF'J./S HONOR. 


437 


message to her cousin, and it seemed to add the last drop 
needed to her cup of happiness ; and perhaps her anxiety to 
express her feelings on this subject to Miss Dearborn saved 
our heroine some natural embarrassment when she and 
Alfred appeared at the hotel, realizing that their new bond 
must of course be explained. Miss Dearborn had been so 
long his confidante, however, that the first glance at the two 
so dear to her told tlie story, and when Dolly fled to her 
own room, Thorndyke’s happiness found eloquent expres- 
sion. 

“ So you were right. Miss Priscilla ! ” he exclaimed. 
“ How often I wanted to believe it ! Can it be possible, 
though ! I find it so hard, after all my wretchedness, to 
realize — and what a grand creature she is ! Heaven grant 
I may be worthy ! ” 


CHAPTER LVI. 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 

General Bering lay in one of the large, richly furnislied 
chambers of The Glen, his life slowly, painlessly, but surely 
ebbing away. Looking about him as he did from time to 
time, he saw every evidence of luxury, of comfort, even of 
affection. At the last, he wondered, asking himself in the 
vague way belonging to physical exhaustion, whether he 
had deserved it ? He sometimes reviewed his life, recalling 
its principal events, marshalling them before him, as it 
were, with the old military instinct keen within him, yet 
half angered that nothing would fix itself in clear, strai ght 
lines. He had been a man of fierce hates, strong prejudices, 
some arrogance, and undomitable self-will, yet throughout 
all had been a deep tenderness of heart, a capacity for 
gentle loving, which few had suspected. Circumstances 
had moulded his life in a fashion which had warred against 
the better instincts and possibilities of his nature. God^s 
plan in the life now nearing its close had been such that, 
bred and nurtured in a different degree of life, — compelled 
to think of the daily needs of others, of actual necessities of 
life, — he would have been a man upon whom a nation might 
have set its seal as heroic. But no such exigencies had 
confronted him. He had lived the life of the usual New 
England boy, born in the first decade of this century, with 
a strong English tradition of wealth, famil}-, and personal 
power ; had, as a matter of course, gone to a good school ; 
thence to Harvard ; entered the army, where for the first 

438 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 


439 


time lie found himself, as he thought, in his natural element. 
But in and out of all had run that tliread of self-conscious- 
ness which is more characteristic of Americans tlian of 
their forbears. He would have disdained the thought of 
his not being wholly and entirely American to the heart’s 
core in his feeling ; j^et, I fancy, the gardener at The Glen, 
Sam Bowcher’s grandson, would have better represented his 
country as a loyal type than the clever, practical, fastidious 
old soldier, who felt himself every inch and in every way 
the lad’s master. He had always regarded himself as, in a 
way, a personal representative of the United States, and 
entitled to respect because his father had not only been a 
“ signer,” of the Independence, but had counselled, during 
that argumentative time, a very careful and pacific way of 
treating things. Ilis career in the Mexican and through- 
out the Civil war had never been signallized by any of 
those dashing deeds which taught, in the last, our boys in 
blue and gray, what mettle was in them and what force 
they had lacked. He would have sacrificed anything to 
following out a written code. To have died on the field in 
order to have saved one remnant of the flag, no matter 
what its stripes or stars, would have seemed to General 
Bering simply a waste of vitality, and as exhibiting a 
merely charlatan enthusiasm. Leaving the Civil war, he 
had for a time returned to army life of a purely official, ex- 
ecutive character, had endeared no subordinate to him— in- 
deed, had never wished to. It had not been in the order of 
human affairs that he should. When his wealth began 
to accumulate, he had turned to the first person who seemed 
to assist its progress. Peter Baker was then a real estate 
agent, ostensibly ; in truth, had begun money-lending on a 
very private scale. The General, under no circumstances, 
would have stooped to a mean or base action. He simply 


440 


FOR HONORS SAKE. 


regarded old Baker as a person who managed his money 
well, brought in a good interest, and showed accurate ac- 
counts. When the name of “ Kent ” had occurred on these, 
the General had only lialf inquired as to whence the mort- 
gage interests came ; the name had associations too painful, 
too gladly dismissed ; and, until the revelations made by 
Dorothy’s first visit, had not been really aware who was his 
creditor, so artfully had the old money-lender managed 
everything. 

Th^deepest grief of his life, as its strongest joy had 
been, was caused by Dorothy Joyce — our Dolly’s fair young 
aunt. He and the old Squire had quarelled bitterly just 
before the girl’s disappearance. Mrs. Hildreth had in- 
duced him to believe that her father had sent for her, and 
in turn persuaded the General that she dreaded a return to 
her adopted father’s roof. Dolly’s grandfather and the 
General had been well mated in strength and prejudice, 
power to hate, and so the breach, once made, never had been 
healed. All unconsciously, Mrs. Leonard, through her pas- 
sionate desire to keep little Addy as her own, had been an- 
other factor in making the story a hidden secret, but Baker 
knew of it, meant to trade upon it, held it over Mrs. Hildreth, 
and terrified Addy’s adopted mother constantly by assur- 
ing her the girl’s rich relations were seeking her to take 
her charge wholly and completely and forever from lier ; 
while poor Addy’s infirmity, if so it might be called, made 
the old man’s scheming easier. He had not the girl herself 
to contend with, and who could say, with her clouded in- 
tellect, what course she might not be induced to pursue ? 

Lying on his bed. General Bering, as I have said, gazed 
silently about him, fully realizing that the tokens of wealth 
on every side were his due, but the figure of the girl in the 
window, who watched his every moment witli such loving. 


IJSr TUB VALLEY OF TEE SHADOW. 


441 


tender eyes ; who waited on him so gently, ministered to 
every want so skilfully, how was it, he asked himself, that 
God had sent so much love and sweetness, such loyalty of 
service and affection, to comfort his last hours ? 

“ Dorothy,” he said, on this special afternoon, trjdng to 
rouse from a painful reverie, “ are you sure I saw Dolly’s 
little girl, yesterday ? 

Dorothy was quickly at her guardian’s side. 

“ Yes, indeed, dear Cousin Angus. They are down now 
at Mrs. Hildreth’s. Shall I send for her again? ” 

“ No, I am content as it is. When is Thorn dyke coming ? ” 

Dolly glanced at her watch. “ Any moment now. It is 
time.” 

“ He has settled everything ? ” 

‘‘ I am sure he has attended to anything you asked him 
to do.” 

The old man was silent for an instant, Dolly clasping the 
wrinkled hand in her own soft, youthful ones. 

“ Can you think of anything to ask me, Dolly? ” he said 
presently, a queer smile flickering over his white face and 
shining for an instant in the great dark eyes ; “ you used to 
be ready enough to ask for other people.” 

Dolly smiled very tenderly. 

“What can I ask, dear Cousin Angus,” she answered. 
“ You have always done everything ; far, far more than I de- 
served.” 

“ Then, there is nothing ! ” He spoke like a disappointed 
child. 

Dolly paused a moment. 

“Yes,” she said slowly. “ If you could do anything, of 
yourself, for my Cousin Priscilla Dearborn.” 

He was again silent. Then, with a slight contraction of 
his brows, said : 


442 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


‘‘ I have done it, yesterday, when the lawyers were here. 
Is there nothing for yourself ? ” 

Dolly’s eyes were full of burning, unshed tears. She 
stroked softly the withered hand in hers. A ring of dull 
gold, set with a black pearl, was on his finger. 

“ May I — will you give me this ring ? ” she said, kneeling 
down beside him. ‘‘ I will never let it leave my hand.” 

The pale face on the pillow flushed with pleasure. 

“My little girl !” he murmured, and laid his trembling 
hand upon her head. “ I will give it to you myself. I 
have worn it fifty years.” 

He drew it feebly from his finger, slipped it upon the hand 
Dorothy held out. No wealth I think to-day could pur- 
chase from the girl that dying gift. 

“ Now,” he said quietly, “ read.” 

The days since Dorothy’s return had drifted by with lit- 
tle variation. At once she had assumed the care or charge 
of the sick room, but Parks was always at hand, and an ex- 
perienced trained nurse ; the River House family were 
constantly within call. Fred Marston, considerably changed 
from his former self-sufficient self, but manlier and graver, 
seemed unable to do enough, while, it is needless to saj^, 
Thorndyke was established in the house, Mrs. Hale and 
Miss Dearborn dividing the household cares, and two Beck- 
ford physicians in constant attendance. But there was 
really almost nothing to be done. After a seizure, conscious- 
ness had returned to find the old soldier’s life simply drift- 
ing away, and his one expressed wish had been to have 
Dolly as much with him as was possible. 

From the first he had seemed to take comfort in her 
reading, whether from a Kempis or the Testament, the 
hymns of Bernard of Cluny, or Uhland’s “ Heavenly Land” ; 
all seemed to bring him peace, a sense of repose at least, 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 


443 


and sometimes he had allowed the girl, in her clear, straight- 
forward fashion, to talk to him, as no other had, of the awful 
and impending change. He felt the bonds of life loosening 
with too little desire to strengthen them to have any such 
topics dismay him ; and Dorothy, girl that she was, had 
taught him to hope. 

After all, the sun of his life was setting against an hori- 
zon fairer than years ago it had ever looked. There was 
little pain, no struggle ; old precepts of his childhood, 
prayers learned at his mother’s knee came back, and more 
than once his eyes rested on a picture which long ago his 
wife had hung upon the wall, the head of the crowned and 
suffering, redeeming Christ. The tangles of the past had 
been unravelled, and by Dorothy ; he felt at peace with 
those he had felt wronged him. Now, let the last summons 
come and might God have mercy upon him. Such was 
the substance of his drifting thought, and on this soft spring 
afternoon Dolly’s voice, with that peculiar sweet cadence 
in it, soothed and consoled him. 

Thine ageless walls are bounded 
With amethyst unpriced ; 

The saints build up the fabric, 

And the corner-stone is Christ. 

Thou hast no shore, fair ocean ! 

Thou hast no time, bright day I 

Dear fountain of refreshment 
To pilgrims far away ! 

Dolly, her hand still holding that of the old man, read 
on gently, tenderly, and with a strange pang at her heart, 
dreading the sundering of this tie, although well knowing 
his time had come; and it was as well that all things in his 
life had seemed to arrange themselves ‘‘ in order ” before 


444 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


the summons came. Gradually a looseness of the aged 
fingers told her that he slept. She closed her book and 
leaned back in the chair, gazing out of the great window 
on the gardens and meadow lands, where spring w^as just 
showing faint, soft touches as of an awakening life. A 
thrill was in the air, the sky cloudless — a fair, unchanging 
blue. So it was ending, thought Dolly, this first winter 
of what she had called her “ career.” With how many 
strange, perplexing, eVen exciting events it had been 
crowded, and yet how mercifully, how well all things had 
worked toward a happy end. 

Dolly reviewed the various incidents of the winter, 
searching her heart and soul for every motive, realizing 
that her fault had been a sort of confidence in her own 
judgment, where the actions were all for others’ good, but 
feeling sure she had meant all for the best. She recalled 
the first talk with Thorndyke ; had he not seen in her a 
touch of this belief in her own power to do ? And then 
came the thought of Honor — Honor, next to her future 
husband, dearest of all to her on earth. That there had 
been a passing feeling for Alfred in Honor’s heart she felt 
sure, yet equally so that it had completely vanished under 
the spell of Fraser’s wonderful, deep, if undemonstrative 
devotion. Something in Donald’s nature had touched 
Honor’s very soul, had awakened what made of her a dif- 
ferent woman, and Dorothy was quite sure that under no 
circumstances would her cousin have given Fraser the 
assurance to hope, which she had, were her heart not free 
to offer him in the end. From this point the girl drifted 
easily to thoughts of others in their special circle. Floy. 
Here came a quick heartbeat of pain, for Floy Marston 
had been an utter disappointment. If Fred was still in 
chains, it was only because his beautiful, selfish wife realized 


m THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 


445 


that to keep him her slave was to further her own ends ; 
but Fred was developing fast ; the day must come when 
he would realize his wife’s shallowness, her incapacity for 
anything like the perfect comradeshi}), the friendship and 
sympathy, which should belong to the married state if it be 
blessed. Mrs. Hildreth’s days were numbered ; soon Floy 
would have no nearer kin than herself, and then, thought 
Dorothy, perhaps^ she might help the shallow, vain girl 
toward something better, especially with Alfred’s help ; 
others in their circle, the Andersons, seemed only to have 
“ grown, in grace.” Nona Marston was to go as soon as 
possible to Miss Dearborn’s charge, there to pursue her 
musical studies for a year, taking some of the teacher’s 
pupils off her hands; and at this point Dolly’s thoughts 
turned to Pauline, her old friend, who of all seemed to be 
the most entirely prosperous and happy ! 

How strange, though, it seemed, to realize that her aunt’s 
child had actually been here but the day before! Had stood, 
in her simple loveliness, by the General’s side, gazing with 
wondering sweet eyes down into his face, perhaps not 
wholly understanding what it meant when he called her 
“Dorothy’s little girl”; certainly equally undismayed by 
the, to her, splendors of the great house, or the shadow of 
death in that quiet chamber. Indeed, truth to tell, Addy’s 
gentle mind was chiefly occupied by the thought that Evvy 
Baker was coming down “for good” the next day, a hasty 
scrawl from that young person having announced her in- 
tention of leaving home at once, and Mrs. Leonard had 
with tears — half gratitude, half compassion — listened to the 
General’s explanation that in his will, signed yesterday, she 
and Addy were amply provided for — the girl to be wholly 
her care henceforth. 

So Dorothy thought, and dreamed, and naturally came 


446 


FOR HONOR'S SAKE. 


that sense of utter rest and happiness in her ovv^n fate. 
Only she and Thorndyke would ever know on what deep, 
secure foundation of perfect trust, faith, and desire each 
to help the other’s life, their pledge had been exchanged. 
Only he and she would ever know the strength of a feeling, 
on neither side demonstrative, perhaps, yet all the more 
firm, earnest, and unchanging. But with every look, word, 
each touch of his hand on hers, Dorothy knew what the 
true devotion offered her, what the life’s companionship 
might be ; and waking or sleeping she felt content. 

A step near her chair, a hand laid on her shoulder, made 
her turn to see the object of her thoughts. Dr. Neil follow- 
ing him into the room. 

‘‘ He is sleeping,” Dolly whispered, then her face changed, 
for, as the doctor bent down above his patient, she saw that 
he was alarmed. 

Yet in the dark, deep-set eyes of the old soldier, opened 
slowly and fixed earnestly first upon one then another, was 
no alarm, no dread. He smiled and looked at Dorothy, 
standing at Alfred’s side. Nothing had pleased him more 
than their engagement, and it was easy now to read the 
meaning in his glance. 

“ Be good to her,” he murmured, “ my little Dorothy ; ” 
and closing his eyes, with one fluttering sigh, the answer to 
God’s summons came. The long, eager life was ended. 


CHAPTER LVII. 


A JOURNEY TO ARCADIA. 

A GLORIOUS J uly day, not over warm, but cloudless, and 
with now and then a “ freshening” breeze, had favored 
the progress of a very trim, dainty little yacht, whose des- 
tnnation for this particular evening was Beckport ; and on 
the deck, a tall, happy-looking young lady, in a charming 
costume of navy blue with a sailor hat, and a bit of white 
collar to complete its trimness, was sitting idly watching 
the line of shore, coming steadily in view, while a desultory 
conversation went on between henself and the young man 
lounging at her side. 

“ It’s lovely to think of seeing them all,” Dolly was say- 
ing. ‘‘ But oh, Alfred, I can’t help feeling sorry it’s over ! ” 

“ What ? Our honeymoon, young woman ? Don’t you 
believe it. It’s just begun.” 

Dolly’s dimples appeared gaily, “ Will you say that ten 
years hence ? ” 

“ Unless you order differently ! Well, I think, Mrs. 
Dorothy, we’ll have to make a compact to take a yearly 
cruise in the ‘ Honor,’ just to keep our sentiment fresh, so 
to speak.” 

“ Let’s do the whole journey,” said Dolly, leaning back in 
her wicker chair, and regarding her husband with shining 
eyes. ‘‘ Begin with the drive from the Homestead, all those 
five happy days in the phaeton ; then take the yacht just 
where we did, and cruise about, this way, and down to 
Beckport.” 


447 


448 


FOR HONOR’S SAKE. 


• “Agreed. Well, on the whole, then you approve my 
idea of a wedding tour ! Better, isn’t it, than dashing about 
sight-seeing, and going to the theatre and opera ? ” 

“ Oh ! ” shuddered Dolly. In a moment she added : 

“ Alfred, I’m afraid we will shock a great many people ! 
You know what Honor wrote the other day, that Mrs. Van- 
diveer was horrified to find I — we — intended selling the 
Fifth Avenue house, and said she wondered if I didn’t 
know my duty to society.” 

“ Ah, I’d like to see the gory one when she hears our 
plans for Homer Street — if she does.” 

“ Donald will delight in telling her, you may be sure ! 
and Sybil too ! She is dreadfully disappointed in us all, I 
know. You may remember that she remarked to Donald, 
‘ I might have worn a coronet ! ’ Donald laughed, and 
said he didn’t see what hindered my wearing it now, if I 
saw fit. She has washed her hands of Sybil, since her en- 
gagement to Mr. Rainey.” 

Thorndyke laughed lazily. He was only too well aware 
that many of their friends would disapprove the simple, un- 
ostentatious, but busy life he and Dorothy had planned to 
lead ; but their conclusions were based upon experience, not 
quixotism, and there was to be no affectation in anything 
connected with the design. It was just six weeks ago that 
in the Homestead — dearer than she could say to Dorothy — 
the words bringing them to each other “till death did 
them part,” had been spoken. A fifteen months’ engage- 
ment — prolonged for various reasons — had served only to 
show each the wisdom of their choice, and the marriage 
ceremony had but been the seal upon vows made in both 
hearts long before. But during this time their future life 
had been gravely, earnestly considered by both young peo- 
ple. Heiress though she found herself to actual wealth, 


A JOURNEY TO ARCADIA. 


449 


yet Dorothy Kent was not one to feel herself aught but a 
steward — and that Alfred shared her feelings only bound 
her the closer to him. The General had made ample pro- 
vision for Miss Dearborn, Mrs. Leonard and her charge, 
old servants, some legacies to friends, and an important one 
to Honor Kent, — one hundred thousand dollars, — making her 
quite an heiress, even when Dolly’s fortune was considered ; 
and that Thorndyke and Dolly were sharers of the residue 
delighted the girl, who would have found it hard to so ar- 
range matters as to make her husband wholly independent 
financially of her income, yet legally in control of it. 

Their plans had been all laid out. The Glen,” dear for 
so many reasons, would be their real home, although the 
house near the Andersons had been purchased. “ The 
Frasers ” as they already called Honor and Donald, who 
were soon to be married, would spend part of the year at 
the Homestead, Dolly having bought back Ruby’s lease at 
the same time the shrewd Mr. Noblet’s loan was paid up 
in full, while the old quarters on Tenth Street would be their 
winter home. With no intention whatever of withdrawing 
from society, Dorothy and her husband intended to live 
with free, generous hospitality, ior friends of every class 
and degree, yielding, however, none of their happiness and 
freedom to the whims and caprices of the purely fashion- 
able world. There could be no question now but that 
Thorndyke’s life must in a measure be a public one, and he 
tormented Dolly often by threatening to pull down her 
ideal of a statesman’s career ; but he meant very differently, 
and had but to look at his wife’s face, to search her clear 
and tender eyes, to read assurance of her faith in his power 
to do and be only what was for the best. Various were the 
girl’s schemes for using her money wisely and well — but she 
would never now need to act without counsel and thought, 
29 


450 


FOR HONORS SAKE. 


nor would her generous impulses be checked by any thought 
that she was not actually spending her own. 

It seemed to them both an Arcadian future ; and if each 
felt well aware that sorrow, grief, heart-sickness, might in- 
vade their peace, yet they had at last a bond of perfect 
faith and trust. Dorothy did not need to show her tiny 
cross to careless eyes. Perhaps he would never stand quite 
on her undebatable land, yet he could say earnestly and 
longingly, Help thou my unbelief?'* 

“ It is a long time ago, Dorothy,” her husband was say- 
ing a few moments later, ‘‘ since I made up my mind that 
if power of mine could bring it about, this — this happiness 
should come to us. Then — well, came a period when things 
looked very hollow. I saw so many shallow, heartless wo- 
men — I sickened of it all ; yet I know now, my child, I 
never lost sight of what you had taught me a woman 
could be. Still, it seems wonderful, strange, almost too 
much happiness to call my own.” 

She stretched her hand out to his and they stood together 
while the yacht curved about the shore and their first jour- 
ney was nearly ended. 

“We need never lose it,” Dorothy said, with a sweet 
look into her husband’s face. “We have this life, dear 
heart, and then — all eternity.” 


THE END. 


The 

Famous 

Castlemon 

Books. 

BY 

Harry 

Castlemon. 



Specimen Cover ol the Gunboat 
Series. 


No author of the present day has become a greater favorite with boys than 
“Harry Castlemon; " every book by him is sure to meet with hearty re- 
ception by young readers generally. His naturalness and vivacity lead his 
readers from page to page with breathless interest, and when one volume is 
finished the fascinated reader, like Oliver Twist, asks “ for more." 

***Any volume sold separately. 


GUNBOAT SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 6 
vols., l2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 


in colors. In box 5*^ 

Frank, the Y'oung Naturalist i 25 

Frank in the Woods i 25 

Frank on the Prairie i 25 

Frank on a Gunboat i 25 

Frank before Vicksburg i 25 


Frank on the Lower Mississippi i 25 



2 


PORTER & COATES’S POPULAR JUVENILES. 


GO AHEAD SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 
vols., l2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box 75 

Go Ahead ; or, The Fisher Boy’s Motto i 25 

No Moss; or. The Career of a Rolling Stone .... J 25 

Tom Newcombe ; or. The Boy of Bad Habits . . i 25 

ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES. By Harry 
Castlemon. 3 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, 
extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75 

Frank at Don Carlos’ Rancho i 25 

Frank among the Rancheros . . . I 25 

Frank in the Mountains i 25 

SPORTSMAN’S CLUB SERIES. By Harry 
Castlemon. 3 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, 
extra, printed in colors. In box ^3 75 

The Sportsman's Club in the Saddle .... i 25 

The Sportsman’s Club Afloat i 25 

The Sportsman’s Club among the Trappers . i 25 

FRANK NELSON SERIES. By Harry Castle- 
mon. 3 vols. i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, 
printed in colors. In box >^3 75 

Snowed Up ; or. The Sportsman’s Club in the Mts. . i 25 

Frank Nelson in the ForecastljB ; or, The Sports- 
man’s Club among the Whalers i 25 

The Boy Traders ; or. The Sportsman’s Club among 
the Boers i 25 

BOY TRAPPER SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 

3 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box . . . ; $3 7$ 

The Buried Treasure ; or. Old Jordan’s “ Haunt ” i 25 

The Boy Trapper ; or. How Dave Filled the Order . i 25 

The Mail Carrier i 25 


PORTER & COATES’S POPULAR JUVENILES. J 

ROUGHING IT SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 

3 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. Inbox tZ IS 

George in Camp ; or. Life on the Plains i 25 

George at the Wheel ; or. Life in a Pilot House . i 25 

George at the Fort ; or. Life Among the Soldiers . i 25 

ROD AND GUN SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 

3 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box 3 75 

Don Gordon’s Shooting Box i 25 

Rod and p-un i 25 

The Young Wild Fowlers i 25 

FOREST AND STREAM SERIES. By Harry 
Castlemon. 3 vols., l2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, 
extra, printed in colors. In box 3 75 

Joe Wayring at Home ; or, Story of a Fly Rod . i 25 

Snagged and Sunk ; or, The Adventures of a Can- 
vas Canoe I 25 

Steel Horse ; or. The Rambles of a Bicycle .... i 25 

WAR SERIES. ' By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols,, 
l2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in 
colors. In box 3 75 

True to his Colors ...» i 25 

Rodney, the Partisan i 25 

Marcy, the Blockade Runner i 25 

OUR FELLOWS; or, Skirmishes with the Swamp 
Dragoons. By Harry Castlemon. l6mo. Fully illus- 
trated. Cloth, extra i 25 


Specimen Cover of the Ragged 
Dick Series. 

Horatio Alger, Jr., has attained distinction as one of the most popular 
writers of books for boys, and the following list comprises aH of his best 


books. 

Any volume sold separately. 

RAGGED DICK SERIES. By Horatio Alger, 

Jr. 6 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, 
printed in colors. In box $7 5 ^ 

Ragged Dick ; or. Street Life in New York .... i 25 

Fame and Fortune ; or, The Progress of Richard 

Hunter i 25 

Mark, the Match Boy ; or, Richard Hunter’s Ward i 25 

Rough and Ready ; or, Life among the New York 

Newsboys i 25 

Sen, the Luggage Boy ; or. Among the Wharves . i 25 

Rufus and Rose ; or, the Fortunes of Rough and 

Ready I 25 

TATTERED TOM SERIES. (First Series.) 

By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols., i2mo. Fully illus- 
trated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box , , , 5 00 

' (4) 


PORTER A COATES’S POPULAR JUVENILES. 5 

Tattered Tom ; or, The Story of a Street Arab . . i 25 

Paul, the Peddler; or, The Adventures of a Young 

Street Merchant l 25 

Phil, the Fiddler ; or, The Young Street Musician . i 25 

Slow and Sure ; or, From the Sidewalk to the Shop i 25 

TATTERED TOM SERIES. (Second Series.) 

4 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box $5 00 

Julius; or the Street Boy Out West i 25 

The Young Outlaw ; or. Adrift in the World ... i 25 

Sam’s Chance and How He Improved it . . . i 25 

The Telegraph Boy i 25 

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. (First Series.) 

By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols., i2mo. Fully illus- 
trated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box . • . . ^5 00 

Luck and Pluck ; or John Oakley’s Inheritance . . i 25 

Sink or Swim ; or, Harry Raymond’s Resolve ... i 25 

Strong and Steady ; or. Paddle Your Own Canoe . i 25 

Strive and Succeed; or, The Progress of Walter 
Conrad i 25 

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. (Second 
Series.) By Horatio Alger, Jr. 3 vols., i2mo. 

Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In 
box 00 

Try and Trust ; or. The Story of a Bound Boy ... i 25 

Bound to Rise ; or Harry Walton’s Motto i 25 

Risen from the Ranks ; or, Harry Walton’s Success i 25 

Herbert Carter’s Legacy ; or. The Inventor’s Son . i 25 

CAMPAIGN SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 3 
vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box $3 7 $ 

Frank’s Campaign ; or. The Farm and the Camp . 1 25 

Paul Prescott’s Charge 1 25 

Charlie Codman’s Cruise 1 25 


6 


PORTER & COATES’S POPULAR JUVENILES. 


BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES. By Horatio 
Alger, Jr. 4 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, 
extra, printed in colors. In box J $5 o® 

Brave and Bold ; or, The Story of a Factory Boy . . i 25 
Jack’s Ward; or. The Boy Guardian i 25 

Shifting for Himself ; or, Gilbert Greyson’s For- 
tunes I 25 

Wait and Hope ; or, Ben Bradford’s Motto .... i 25 

PACIFIC SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 
vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box $5 

The Young Adventurer; or, Tom’s Trip Across 
the Plains i 25 

The Young Miner; or, Tom Nelson in California . i 25 

The Young Explorer ; or, Among the Sierras . . i 25 

Ben’s Nugget; or, A Boy’s Search for Fortune. A 

Story of the Pacific Coast i 25 

ATLANTIC SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 
vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box 00 

The Young Circus Rider; or. The Mystery of 
Robert Rudd I 25 

Do and Dare ; or, A Brave Boy’s Fight for Fortune . i 25 

Hector’s Inheritance ; or. Boys of Smith Institute . i 25 

Helping Himself ; or. Grant Thornton’s Ambition . i 25 

WAY TO SUCCESS SERIES. By Horatio 
Alger, Jr. 4 vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, 
extra, printed in colors. In box ^ 5 $ 00 

Bob Burton i 25 

The Store Boy i 25 

Luke Walton i 25 

Struggling Upward i 25 

Five Hundred Dollars Legacy. By Horatio 
Alger, Jr. i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, 
printed in colors . ; * 2$ ^ 


A 

New Series 
of Books. 


. Indian Life 
and 

Character 
Founded on 
Historical 
Facts. 



Specimen Cover of the Wyoming 
Senes. 


By Edward T. Ellis. 

Any volume sold separately. 


BOY PIONEER SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. 
3 vols., l2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 


in colors. Inbox ^3 75 

Ned in the Block House ; or. Life on the Frontier, i 25 

Ned in the Woods. A Tale of the Early Days in 

the West i 25 

Ned on the River i 25 

DEERPOOT SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. In 
box containing the following. 3 vols., i2mo. Illus- 
trated ‘ $3 7S 

Hunters of the Ozark i 25 

Camp in the Mountains i 25 

The Last War Trail i 25 

LOG CABIN SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. 

3 vols., l2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
in colors. In box $3 75 


( 7 ) 


8 


PORTER & COATES’S POPULAR JUVENILES. 


Ijost Trail 


25 


Camp-Fire and Wigwam i 25 

Footprints in the Forest i 25 

WYOMING SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. 3 
vols., i2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 

in colors. In box ^3 75 

Wyoming i 25 

Storm Mountain i 25 

Cabin in the Clearing i 25 

Through Forest and Fire. By Edward S. Ellis. 
i2nio. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in 
colors I 25 


By C. A. Stephens. 


Rare books for boys — bright, breezy, wholesome and instructive ; full of 
adventure and incident, and information upon natural history. They blend 
instruction with amusement — contain much useful and valuable information 


upon the habits of animals, and plenty of adventure, fun and jollity. 

CAMPING OUT SERIES. By C. A. Stephens. 

6vols., l2mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 

in colors. In box ^7 50 

Camping Out. As recorded by “ Kit ” i 25 

Left on Labrador; or The Cruise of the Schooner 
Yacht “ Curfew.” As recorded by “ Wash” .... i 25 
Off to the Geysers ; or, The Young Yachters in Ice- 
land. As recorded by “Wade” i 25 

Lyns Hunting. From Notes by the author of 

“Camping Out” I 25 

Fox Hunting. As recorded by “ Raed ” i 25 

On the Amazon ; or. The Cruise of the “ Rambler.” 

As recorded by “ Wash ” i 25 


By J. T. Trowbridge. 


These stories will rank among the best of Mr. Trowbridge's books for the 
young — and he has written some of the best of our juvenile literature. 

JACK HAZARD SERIES. By J. T. Trowbridge. 

6vols., l2mo. Fully Illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed 
In colors. In box S7 t;o 


PORTER * COATES’S POPULAR JUVENILES. 9 

Jack Hazard and His Fortunes $ 12 $ 

A Chance for Himself ; or, Jack Hazard and his 

Treasure I 25 

Doing His Best i 25 

Fast Friends 1 25 

The Young Surveyor; or, Jack on the Prairies . i 25 

Lawrence’s Adventures Among the Ice Cut- 
ters, Glass Makers, Coal Miners, Iron Men and Ship 
Builders i 25 

—GOOD BOOKS— 


Suitable for Girls between the Aires of 12 and 15. 


Ways and Means. A Story for girls. By Mar- 
garet Vandegrift. With four illustrations. i2mo. 

Cloth, extra i 50 

The Queen’s Body-Guard. A Story for Girls. By 
Margaret Vandegrift. With four illustrations. i2mo. 

Cloth, extra i 50 

Rose Raymond’s Wards, A Story for Girls. By 
Margaret Vandegrift. Illustrated with four engravings 

on wood. l2mo. Cloth, extra i 5 ® 

Doris and Theodora. A Story for Girls. By Mar- 
garet Vandegrift. Illustrated with four engravings on 

wood. i2mo. Cloth, extra i 5 ® 

Dr. Gilbert’s Daughters. A Story for Girls. By 
Margaret Harriet Mathews. Illustrated with four en- 
gravings on wood. i2mo. Cloth, extra 15 ° 

Esther’s Fortune. A Romance for Girls. By Lucy 
C. Lillie. Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, extra, brown 

and gold i So 

Helen Glenn ; or, My Mother’s Enemy. A Story for 
Girls. By Lucy C. Lillie. Illustrated with eight illus- 
trations. i2mo. Cloth, extra I 50 

The Squire’s Daughter. By Lucy C. Lillie. i2mo. 

Illustrated. Cloth, extra 150 

For Honor’s Sake. By Lucy C. Lillie. i2mo. 

Illustrated. Cloth, extra 150 

Marion Berkley. A Story for Girls. By Lizzie B. 
Comins (Laura Caxton). i2mo. Illustrated. Cloth, 

extra, brown and gold I 25 

Hartwell Farm. A Story for Girls. By Lizzie B. 
Comins (Laura Caxton). i2mo. Illustrated. Cloth, 
extra, brown and gold I 25 



THE HANDSOMEST AND CHEAPEST GIFT BOOKS. 

‘^I^e “ fells’’ ^eries. 


The “ BELLS " Series has been undertaken by the publishers with a view 
to issue original illustrated poems of a high character, at a price within the 


reach of all classes. 

Small 4to. Cloth, gilt edges 5° 

Ivory surface i 50 

Embossed calf, gilt edges i 50 


GEMS FROM TENNYSON. 

By Alfked Tennyson. Elegantly illustrated by Hammatt Billings. 

BEAUTIES OF TENNYSON. 

By Alfred Tennyson. Elegantly illustrated with twenty engravings, from 
original drawings by Frederic B. Schell. Beautifully printed on the finest 
plate paper. 

FROM GREENLAND’S ICY MOUNTAINS. 

By Bishop Heber. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, from 
original drawings by Frederic B. Schell. Beautifully printed on the finest 
plate paper. 

LADY CLARE. 

By Alfred Tennyson. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, 
from original drawings by Alfred Fredericks, F. S. Church, Harry Fenn, 
F B. Schell, E. P. Garret and Granville Perkins. Beautifully printed on 
the finest plate paper. 

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS. 

By Clement C. Moore. Never before has this popular poem — a favorite 
with both the old and the young — been presented in such a beautiful dress. 
It is elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, from original draw- 
ings by F. B. Schell, W. T. Smedley, A. Fredericks and H. R. Poore. 

BINGEN ON THE RHINE. 

By Caroline E. Norton. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two en- 
gravings. from original drawings by W.' T. Smedley, F. B. Schell, A. 
t'redencKs, Granville Perkins and E. P. Garrett. 

THE BELLS. 

By Edgar Allan Poe. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, 

■ from original drawings by F. O. C. Darley, A. Fredericks, Granville 
Perkins and others. 

THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 

By Oliver Goldsmith. Elegantly illustrated with thirty-five engravings, 
from drawings by Hammatt Billings. 

THE COTTER’S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

By Robert Burns. Elegantly illustrated with fifty engravings, from draw- 
ings by Chapman. 


xo 


^tanbarb J][istopies. 


History of England, from the Accession of 
James the Second. By Thomas Babingtoa 
Macaulay. Standard edition. With a steel portrait 
of the author Printed from new electrotype plates 
from the last English edition. Being by far the most 
correct edition in the American market. 5 vols., 

i2mo. Cloth, extra, per set 

Sheep, marbled edges, per set 

Half Russia (imitation), marbled edges 

Half calf, gilt 


^5 00 
7 50 
7 50 
10 00 . 


History of the Decline and Pall of the Roman 
Empire. By Edward Gibbon. With notes by Rev. 
H. H. Milman. Standard edition. To which is 
added a complete Index of the work. A new edition 
from entirely new stereotype plates. With portrait on 


steel. 5 vois., 1 2mo. Cloth, extra, per set 5 00 

Sheep, marbled edges, per set 7 50 

Half Russia (imitation), marbled edges, 7 5 ° 

Half calf, gilt, per set 10 00 


History of England, from the Invasion of 
Julius Caesar to the Abdication of James 
the Second, 1688. By David Hume. Standard 
edition. With the author’s last corrections and im- 
provements, to which is prefixed a short account of his 
life, written by himself. With a portrait on steel. A 
new edition from entirely new stereotype plates. 5 


vols., i2mo. Cloth, extra, per set 5 

Sheep, marbled edges, per set 7 50 

Half Russia (imitation), marbled edges 7 5 ° 

Half calf, gilt ... lO 00 


11 


^Jll^isccllaneous. 


A Dictionary of the Bible. Comprising its An- 
tiquities, Biography, Geography, Natural History and 
Literature. Edited by William Smith, LL.D. Re- 
vised and adapted to the present use of Sunday-school 
Teachers and Bible Students by Revs. F. N. and 
M. A. Peloubet. With eight colored maps and 440 


•ngravings on wood. 8vo. Cloth, extra ...... $2 00 

Sheep, marbled edges 3 

Half morocco, gilt top 3 50 


History of the Civil War in America. By the 

Comte de Paris. Translated with the approval of the 
author. With maps faithfully engraved from the origi- 
nals, and printed in three colors. 8vo. 


Cloth, extra, per vol 3 5 ° 

Red cloth, extra, Roxburgh style, uncut edges, per vol. 3 50 

Sheep, library style, per vol 4 5 ® 

Half Turkey morocco, per vol 6 00 

Volumes I, II, III and IV now ready, put up in a neat 
box, or any volume sold separately. 

The Battle of Gettysburg. By the Comte de Paris. 

With maps. 8vo. Cloth, extra i 5 ® 

I 


Comprehensive Biographical Dictionary. Em- 
bracing accounts of the most eminent persons of all 
ages, nations and professions. By E. A. Thomas. 


Crown 8vo. 

Cloth, extra, gilt top 2 50 

Sheep, marbled edges 3 00 

Half morocco, gilt top 3 50 

Half Russia, gilt top 4 50 


The Amateur Photographer. A manual of photo- 
graphic manipulations intended especially for begin- 
ners and amateurs, with suggestions as to the choice of 
apparatus and of processes. By Ellerslie Wallace, 

Jr., M.D. New edition, with two new chapters on 
paper negatives and microscopic photography. i2mo. 

Limp morocco, sprinkled edges i 00 


13 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


13 


A 

Interest Tables. Containing accurate calculations of 
interest at i, 2, 3, 2)4, 4, 4^, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 10 
per cent, per annum, both simple and compound, on 
all sums from $1.00 to ^10.00, and from one day to six 
years. Also some very valuable tables, calculated by 
John E. Coffin. 8vo. Cloth, extra cxj 

England, Picturesque and Descriptive. A 

Reminiscence of Travel. By Joel Cook, author of 
“ A Holiday Tour in Europe,” “ Brief Summer Ram- 
bles,” etc. Elegantly illustrated with 487 engravings 

on wood. 4to. Cloth, extra 7 50 

Half calf, gilt, marbled edges 10 

Half Morocco, full gilt edges 10 

Full Turkey morocco, gilt edges 15 

The Waverley Novels. By Sir Walter Scott, Bart. 

23V0IS. 

Household Edition. Illustrated. l2mo. 

Cloth, extra, per set 23 

Half calf, gilt, per set 46 

Half morocco, gilt top 46 

Universe Edition. Printed on thin paper, and con- 
taining one illustration to the volume. 25 vols., i2mo. 

Cloth, extra, per vol 75 

World Edition. 12 vols., thick l2mo. 

(Sold in sets only.) Cloth, extra 18 00 

Half im’t. Russia, marbled edges 24 00 

Captain Jack the Scout; or. The Indian Wars 
about Old Fort Duquesne. An Historical Novel, with 
copious notes. By Charles McKnight. With eight 
engravings. l2mo. Cloth, extra I 50 

Ladies’ and Gentlemen’s Etiquette. A Com- 
plete Manual of the Manners and Dress of American 
Society. Containing forms of Letters, Invitations, Ac- 
ceptances and Regrets. By E. B. Duffey. i2mo. 

Cloth, extra i 50 

The Count of Monte Cristo. By Alexandre 
Dumas. Complete in one volume, with two illustra- 
tions by George G. White. l2mo. Cloth, extra . . i 25 


888 888 


14 MISCELLANEOUS. 

The Iliad of Homer Rendered into English 
Blank Verse. By Edward, Earl of Derby. With ‘S 

a biographical sketch of Lord Derby by R. Shelton < 

Mackenzie, D.C.L. Popular edition. Two vols. in ■ j 

one. i2mo. 

Cloth, extra $ 15 ° 

Ten Nights in a Bar Room and What I Saw 

There. By T. S. Arthur. Entirely new edition from j 

new electrotype plates. Illustrated. i2mo. 

Cloth, extra 7 ^5 

Jane Eyre. By Charlotte Bronte (Currer Bell). New ! 

Library Edition. With five illustrations by E.^ M. 

Wimperis. i2mo. Cloth, extra I oo 

Shirley. By Charlotte Bront6 (Currer Bell). New . 

Library Edition. With , five illustrations by E. M. | 

Wimperis. i2mo. Cloth, extra I oo \ 

Villette. By Charlotte Bront6 (Currer Bell). New 

Library Edition. With five illustrations by E. M. ^ 

Wimperis. i2mo. Cloth, extra I oo 

The Professor, Emma and Poems' By Charlotte 
Bronte (Currer Bell). New Library Edition. With 
five illustrations by E. M. Wimperis. i2mo. 


Cloth, extra, black and gold '. . . . i oo 

The four volumes, forming the complete works of Char- 
lotte Bront6, in a neat box. 

Cloth, extra, black and gold, per set 4 oo 

Fancy cloth, paper label, gilt top, uncut edges ... 5 00 

Half calf, gilt, per set 8 00 

History of Scotland. (Tales of a Grandfather.) 

By Sir Walter Scott. 3 vols., i2mo. Cloth, plain . . 3 00 

Half calf, gilt tops 6 00 

Half morocco, gilt tops 6 00 


Tales of a Grandfather. By Sir Walter Scott, Bart. 
4 vols. Uniform with the Waverley Novels. 

Household Edition. Illustrated. i2mo. 


Cloth, extra, per vol I 00 

Sheep, marbled edges, per vol. . . i 50 

Half calf, gilt, marbled edges, per vol 3 00 





















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